
■ \ K> 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap^LZ^jCopyright No, ... 

Shelf_^L|_?| s 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 

























































































































































































































' 

































THE CAPTAIN IN HIS DEN. 





THE 


Silver Bullet, 

OR 

THE YOUNG RELIC HUNTERS OF THE 
PALMETTO STATE. 

A STORY OF TODAY. 




BY 


A. S. ROWELL (OLD COINS). 


DEC 24> H ^» 

V'"/* 


(,0 1 e 


GREENVILLE, S. C. 
SHANNON & CO., PUBLISHERS. 
1897. 







- 4 ^ 




COPYRIGHT 
BY A. S. ROWELL, 
1896. 


PREFACE. 


The characters in this book illustrate a 
phase of life in the “New South” — for we 
might as well acknowledge that our Sunny 
Southland History has two epochs, the “ Old 
South” and the “New South.” The “Old 
South ” has its delightful and hallowed 
memories of chivalrous days, and of a refined 
civilization unsurpassed by any on the face of 
the globe ; but it also had some wide con- 
trasts. Over against the chivalrous, the re- 
fined, the educated, and the wealthy, were the 
ignorant, unrefined, poor , who under the 
Slavery Regime, seemed destined to remain 
in that condition. 

The “ New South,” however, with its energy, 
its push, and its agricultural interests be- 
coming more rapidly and generally diver- 
sified with manufacturing enterprises is fast 
obliterating, so far as the white race is con- 
cerned, this second and undesirable class. 
Marvelous are the developments that are now 
being made. 

The characters here portrayed are true 
types. Some of the events and facts may 
seem to be a wild play of fancy — for instance, 
^he “Picture in the Saucer.” We have only 


to say that the account of its advent is strictly 
true, as any one may learn to their satisfac- 
tion by writing to responsible parties in Pied- 
mont. “ Old Sol 7 ’ is a veritable old darkey. 
“ The Historical Circle has its real counter- 
part. 

What we have written has been largely 
for the purpose of doing justice to the life of 
the inhabitants of our well-managed cotton 
manufacturing towns in South Carolina, and 
to show that the spindle and the loom are just 
as conducive to the development of good and 
noble manhood , as the Anvil, the Plow, the 
Plane, or the Pen. 

We send this, our first web of mental 
fabric, out to the world of old and young 
readers, in the sincere faith that its threads 
of thought, its warp and woof of truth and 
fancy, may be attractive and acceptable, and 
that its influence may be for good and not 
for evil. THE AUTHOR. 

Piedmont, S. C., January 1, 1897. 


The Silver Bullet, 

or 

THE YOUNG RELIC HUNTERS OF THE 
PALMETTO STATE. 


CHAPTER I. 

T HERE is a comparatively new town in the 
upper part of the State of South Carolina 
called “ Piedmont.” It is located near the foot 
of the Blue Ridge Mountains, which fact gave 
the place its name, for Piedmont primarily 
means “ the foot of the hills.” 

This town is the seat of a large Cotton Manu- 
facturing Enterprise, and has a population of 
some thirty-five hundred souls. The inhabi- 
tants are mostly of that class who come from 
the humbler walks of life, indigenous to the soil. 

The great Civil War” between the States, 
and its attendant privations, debarred many 
of the people, who at the time this story begins 
were of mature years, from educational advan- 
tages. It had this effect upon them, however, 
it drew them out of the idolent mode of life 


2 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


under the old, slow regime , to the progres- 
sive, practical life that characterizes this New 
Age of the New Southland, and the Fathers of 
today are determined that the rising generation 
shall find no lack of educational privileges in 
the future. 

We deem it essential to make this statement 
concerning this locality and its surroundings, 
for it will help to a better understanding of the 
events that follow. 

On a certain Tuesday night in May, 189 — , five 
persons were gathered in the “ Snuggery , ” a 
comfortable cottage house on the outskirts of 
the town, the residence of one of the group. 
The eldest of the company was a Mr. DeRoque. 
The other four were young men, and were 
named respectively, Nat Breed, Dick Griswold* 
JacU Austin and Tom Carter. The room in 
which they sat denoted that they were assem- 
bled for the purpose of study, for a goodly sup- 
ply of books on scientific subjects were lying 
about in easy reach. A number of cases were 
arranged about the apartment, in which were 
to be seen specimens of minerals and other ob- 
jects of natural history, and a placard over one 
of them bore this legend, “The Piedmont His- 
torical Circle.”. And this indeed was the mean- 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


3 


ing of the assembly. It was the regular meet- 
ing of the Circle. The members were all work- 
men in the cotton factory’ of the town, and were 
busy, industrious people. 

This fact, did not debar them from employ- 
ing their leisure moments in the cultivation 
of the mind, and in the acquisition of use- 
ful knowledge. They had been deprived of a 
classical training, but were endeavoring to ob- 
tain the next best thing to it. And the result 
was, that while they were not up in theory— the 
importance of which cannot be too highly esti- 
mated — as far as they had gone in their investi- 
gations they had a more practical knowledge of 
the ground they had gone over. 

It was an interesting sight to look in upon 
them at their meeting, as they sat grouped 
around a large center table. Mr. DeRoque, who 
presided over the meeting, held in his hand a 
small nugget of gold, which one of the members 
had been presented with a short time before. It 
having been found in Greenville County, in 
which Piedmont is located, it became an object 
of special interest to them. Mr. DeRoque was ex- 
plaining the character of gold, and the methods 
of ascertaining if it was the genuine article. 
In concluding his remarks on the subject, he said : 


4 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


“ Boys, I have recently come across an inter- 
esting’ fact concerning gold. As you all well 
know 1 am a reader of, and believer in, the 
Bible, and have been from a boy. Years ago, 
when I was quite young, I read the 21st chapter 
of Revelatiou, which contains a description of 
Heaven. It made a deep impression on my mind, 
especially the 18th verse, which reads thus, 
“ And the building of the wall of it was of jasper, 
and the city was pure gold like unto clear glass, 
and the street of the city was of pure gold, as it 
were transparent glass.” Now the first thought 
that came into my mind was, is this figurative 
language? Or, is the inspired writer stating a 
fact ? If it be figurative language, I reasoned it 
would seem to be unnecessary, and that is con- 
trary to ray conception of God, who always has 
a purpose in his work. If the language be lit- 
eral, then it presents a great mystery to me, 
for all the gold I have ever seen or heard of is not 
transparent but opaque, the extreme contrast 
of transparent. In consulting commentators 
I found that some of them explained the passage 
by saying it meant exceeding fine gold, etc. 
This explanation was not satisfactory to me, 
because, if it meant fine gold, why was it not 
just as easy to say so as it was to say trails- 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


5 


parent? Having, no better explanation to ad- 
vance, I was compelled to accept the theory 
presented. In the years that have passed, my 
mind has frequently reverted to, these Scrip- 
tural passages, but ever with the same result. 
A short time ago I chanced to become ac- 
quainted with an experiment made by a certain 
scientific gentleman, who had for the object 
of his test the discovering of how thin gold 
could be spread out, or in other words, to 
what extent its ductility could be made to 
reach. The usual method of reducing gold is 
by what is kuown as the goldbeaters’ process. 
In this way a piece of gold can be beaten out so 
thin that to one not acquainted with the result 
it would seem almost incomprehensible. For 
instance, a twenty dollar gold piece, rightly 
worked upon, can be made to cover a space of 
two hundred square feet. One grain of gold can 
be drawn into a wire five hundred feet long. 
Ordinary gold leaf is one three hundred and 
sixty-seven thousand, six hundred and fiftieth 
part of an inch in thickness. One ounce of gold- 
covered silver wire can be drawn out one 
thousand three hundred miles in length. 

“The gentleman in question decided to take a 
different course. He first took a piece of metal, 


(3 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


copper I think, gave one surface a high polish, 
then having weighed it, he placed it in an elec- 
tro-plating machine, and carefully noted the de- 
posit of gold upon it as the process of plating 
went on. When he was satisfied that the sur- 
face was covered, he removed it, and then 
weighed the object with the plating on it, and 
found that in proportion to the thickness and 
weight of the copper that the film of gold was 
one-fourth milliont h part of an inch in thickness. 
(To those persons who are unacquainted with 
the modern aparatus for weighing material and 
chemicals for scientific experiments, it seems ut- 
terly incredible that instruments could possibly 
be made that could weigh accurately such 
minute objects, but it can be done; and if any 
of our young readers will take the pains to go 
to a chemist and request him to do so, he 
would probably be willing to show them the in- 
teresting test of weighing their own name writ- 
ten lightly on a piece of paper with a lead 
pencil.) So it will be seen that while the weigh- 
ing of the piece of gold in question would pre- 
sent an interesting bit of information to the un- 
informed, it would not be considered an un- 
usual thing to those who are accustomed to in- 
vestigations along that line. 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


7 


“The experiment proved to be very satisfac- 
tory so far as testing- the ductility of gold was 
concerned, but the experimenter was destined ac- 
cidentally to make another discovery. He 
found, on laying the film down on any object 
that, though it was so thin, it completely 
covered the object on which it lay, and retained 
its beautiful yellow hue. Chancing, however, 
to hold it up between himself and a light, to his 
great surprise he found he could plainly see 
through it, as if he were looking through a piece 
of yellow glass. To him it was a new and in- 
teresting discovery. I presume he never dreamed 
that the Seer of Pa/tmos, or the Power that in- 
spired him, had announced the same fact nearly 
two thousand years ago, but the very moment 
the announcement of the experiment was made 
known to me there flashed upon my mind the 
solution of the problem contained in the 21st 
chapter of Kevelation, and confirmed my belief 
that the Scriptures are always right. If we do 
not comprehend them it is because our vision 
is yet too dim, and our knowledge is yet too 
limited to fathom the eternal thought and pur- 
pose of the great Creator. And boys, let me give 
you this word of advice. I have passed the half- 
way station of life’s journey, and of course have 


8 


TILE SILVER BULLET. 


had more experience and a wider range of ob- 
servation than any of you. This Circle, of 
which you are members, will be a great benefit 
or a great harm, in accordance as to how you 
use it. If, as is the case with many who take up 
the investigation of historical or scientific sub- 
jects, it should lead you to be conceited and 
skeptical with reference to religion and the 
Bible, then have you begun a work that will be 
greatly to your injury. If on the other hand 
you study the word and works of God together, 
and with a sincere desire seek to know the 
beauty and worth of truth in the open book of 
Nature and Revelation, you will build a charac- 
ter that will grow in strength and loveliness as 
the days of life pass by. 

“I further advise you to beware of that class 
of men, would-be leaders, who are loud-mouthed 
and vociferous in the advocacy of any cause or 
principle they may represent, whether from the 
pulpit or platform. Such a person is more 
than liable to be on the side of error and will 
lead others in their footsteps. Truth is gentle 
and mild, not loud, but modest. 

Truth is a line both straight and true ; 

One scarce could fail to know it. 

Though hid by error’s ebon hue, 

In God’s good time it pierces through, 

And forces the lie below it. 


THE SILVER BULLET . 


9 


“ Or trutli may be compared to what is known 
among assayers as the touchstone. This min- 
eral is a hard, black, bituminous quartz obtained 
from Lidia, in Asia Minor (black basalt is also 
used). It is employed in testing* gold as fol- 
lows: A series of needles or small bars are 
formed and numbered. No. 1 consists of pure 
gold. No. 2 of twenty -three parts of gold and 
one part copper, and soon. If one had an article 
which he claimed was pure gold and wished to dis- 
pose of it, if the party who was to purchase wished 
to have positive assurance of the purity of the 
metal and should insist on its being taken to 
an assay er for a test, the assayer would 
take the bar of pure gold and draw it across 
the touchstone ; he would then take the article 
to be tested and draw it also across the stone 
by the side of the mark made by the pure gold. 
If they agree in color, be knew that they were 
similar in purity and value. 

“ In like manner, my young friends, the truth, 
so far as a man’s moral actions are concerned, 
may be ascertained. There is one pure un- 
alloyed standard. That is the Life and Words 
of Jesus Christ as portrayed in the Bible. If 
any one holds up to you a line of action in 
morals, and claims that it is the truth, apply 


10 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


the touchstone of the Bible to the theories he 
advances. Or, if it be along the line of any- 
thing else of which the Bible treats, stand to 
the Sacred Book and do not be satisfied with 
anything that is arrayed against it. If you 
will heed these counsels you can safely investi- 
gate all scientific matters, without injury to 
your highest interests in morals or intellect. ” 


CHAPTER II. 


THE MISTERIOUS FACE IN THE SAUCER. 

T HE regular meeting of the exploring circle 
had come around again. Mr. DeRoque was 
in the chair and the young members were out 
in full force. When the President asked if any 
one present had any new item of interest to 
offer, Nat Breed arose and said : 

“Mr. President, there has taken place in our 
town within the last month, an occurrence 
that has created a great sensation. It is re- 
garded by all as a marvelous thing, and by 
some as a miracle. 

“ I confess to you that I am not able to 
fathom this mystery. My penchant for that 
which is strange and curious led me to closely 
investigate the matter, and my passion for relics 
has led me to preserve it in a substantial form.” 
Here he produced a photograph, and the mem- 
bers crowded about to see it. The photograph 
was a representation of a ‘‘tea saucer ” in which 
some coffee grounds had formed themselves into 
a man’s face. And what was very remarkable, 
that face was the ideal portrait of Jesus Christ. 
After all had examined it carefully, Nat con- 
tinued his remarks by saying: 


12 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


“Mr. President, I have no theory to ad- 
vance about this strange event, but will give 
you the circumstances of its advent as I have 
found them, after careful and painstaking inves- 
tigation. 

“ There is a certain widow lady who resides 
in this town, well known to you all — I refer to 
Mrs. Timmerman. Something like a month 
ago her youngest daughter died. She was a 
beautiful girl in every sense of the word, fair of 
face, and of so lovely a character and dispo- 
sition that all who knew her loved her. She 
was also a pure-hearted and sweet-spirited 
Christian. 

“As we have said, she was the youngest child, 
some fifteen years of age. It is natural that 
the mother, as well as the rest of the family, 
should have a peculiar love for the latest born. 
Such was the fact in this case. The mother’s 
affections were entwined around this fair young- 
girl, and to see her thus early in life stricken 
down by the hand of death was a crushing blow. 
She was a Christian woman, but this disaster 
sorely tried her faith in God. 

“In this respect, perhaps, she was not unlike 
the mass of humanity. With sunny skies and 
favoring winds, with plenty on the board and 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


13 


the circle about the hearthstone intact, it is easy 
to have faith in God, but let trouble come, let 
the iron hand of affliction smite us with a 
sudden and heavy stroke until the iron seems to 
pierce through our very soul, and we are at once 
brought to the test. Happy for us then if 
we cling to God, for to let loose from him is to 
be set adrift on unknown seas and to cast our- 
selves into the pit of uncertainty. There is no 
trouble so great .as that which has to be borne 
without the arm of Almighty God to lean upon. 

“So it was with this mother ; her way for the 
time being was dark. She could not at once 
reconcile herself to the great loss she had sus- 
tained, but she did not cease to pray for the 
light to come. A short time after the death 
referred to, one night when Mrs. Timmerman 
had retired to rest, she had a dream. Now, 
there is nothing remarkable in a person having 
a dream— all persons have that experience. But 
this dream of Mrs. Timmerman’s was a strik- 
ing one, and made a deep impression on her 
mind. She knew it was a dream, but still it did 
nob seem to be. When she had laid down to 
sleep her burden of sorrow seemed very great, 
too great for her to bear. In this state, with 
body and heart and mind exhausted, her physi- 


14 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


cal being passed across that Phantom Bridge 
which spans the unknown gulf, which lies be- 
tween consciousness and semi-consciousness, 
into the realm of sleep, that mysterious counter- 
feit of death. From out the phantasmagoria 
and cloudy shapes that floated around her and 
filled the room, she saw four persons come and 
stand by her bedside. Three qf them she recog- 
nized, for they bore the faces of loved and dear 
ones who had died, and one of the three was 
the daughter who had so recently passed away. 
The fourth form she did not recognize, but the 
face was that of a man in the prime of life, 
with strong, kindly, loving, sympathetic fea- 
tures. He spoke to her and the voice was full of 
comfort and sweetness. He bade her to be com- 
forted, to dismiss her fears, for those who had 
gone on before were safe. They were happy and 
were waiting for the happy re-union that would 
some day take place. He assured her too, that 
those of her family circle who remained on 
earth were in the way that leads to eternal life 
and immortal blessedness; that she had only to 
be patient for a time, and all would be w ell with 
her and her’s. Then this vision vanished. 

“She told the dream to her children the next 
morning with the remark, that it did not seem 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


15 


to be a dream, but of course it was. Another 
week passed by and still her burden of sorrow 
remained. One morning just after breakfast, 
when the children had gone to the mill for their 
daily task, she sat down for a few minutes of 
rest and meditation ; she thought of her. loss 
and also of the promises of God to sustain her 
in the hour of need. Why is it, the thought 
came to her, that I cauuot be comforted? I 
believe in God, he has promised to sustain me, 
but 1 cannot seem to catch one ray of light. 
Then she prayed that God would send her some 
token by which she might know beyond the 
shadow of a doubt that all was well. With this 
prayer in her mind she began to cleanse the 
soiled dishes of the morning meal. It so hap- 
pened that among the other dishes on the table 
was an extra saucer which had not been used, 
but one of the family, who had drank a cup of 
coffee, had overturned the soiled cup into this 
clean saucer. Mrs. Timmerman took the saucer 
to wipe away the dregs of the coffee, and had 
passed one edge of the drying cloth over the 
edge of the dish, when she was startled by what 
seemed to be a face on its surface. Closer in- 
spection proved it was a face, and her first 
thought was, it is the countenace of the fourth 


16 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


person I saw in my dream. And then the 
thought, came as quick as a flash, it is the face 
of Jesus Christ, my Savior. He lias heard my 
prayer. And a wave of emotion and peace 
swept over her soul. She carefully preserved 
the saucer. 

“ At first she said nothing about it save to 
the family circle and a few intimate friends, but 
the news finally got noised abroad, and thous- 
ands of people came to see the wondrous sight, 
as many as several hundred coming in one day. 
I have been present on a number of occasions 
when Mrs. Timmerman permitted the people to 
view it, and have been very much interested to 
note the effect it has had on different people. 
Now, as a rule we are not surprised to find a 
certain amount of superstition among unedu- 
cated classes, but when educated, refined and 
intelligent men and women are impressed with 
an event, we take it to be of more than passing 
interest. 

“ I certify here, that in all the crowds that 
visited this mysterious picture, I did not see 
one indifferent looker-on. Many came with a 
smile of incredulity on their faces, but went 
away sober and awe-struck. The more refined 
and educated the person, the deeper was theim- 



THE MYSTERIOUS FACE IN THE SAUCER 














' 






















































THE SILVER BULLET. 


17 


pression made. Preachers, lawyers, teachers, 
bankers and merchants, with persons of every 
sex and grade, formed the company of sight- 
seers. I saw some go away wiping the tears 
from their eyes. And one, a young woman, not 
noted for the purity of her life, with her eyes 
swimming with tears, said, I am convicted of 
my sins; I now believe that Jesus Christ is the 
Savior of the w orld. 

“Such, Mr. President and members of the Cir- 
cle, are the circumstances connected with the 
appearance of this strange object, as I have 
learned them and observed them. In my rela- 
tion of them, I have kept with strict exactness 
to the facts, and believe I have not overdrawn 
them in any particular. And I present them to 
you as an occurrence worthy of a place in our 
records, and as among the strangest it has ever 
been my lot to become acquainted with.” 

When Nat had done speaking, the President 
arose and said : 

“Young men, we haWe tonight listened to a 
novel and strange rehearsal. We are indebted to 
our colleague for his painstaking investigation 
of the subject. We have all of us been aware, to 
some extent, of the facts of which he has spoken, 
and undoubtedly eacb one has formed some 


18 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


theory of his own with reference to it. I, myself, 
have taken a deep interest in the matter.” 

Hereupon one of the young* men spoke up 
and said : 

“ Mr. DeRoque, I think with myself the other 
members of the Circle would be glad if you 
would give us your honest opinion of it. We 
know that you are cool-headed and conserva- 
tive enongh not to connect any superstitious 
or supernatural influence with it, and we are 
really anxious to know your views.” 

“ Well, young men,” replied the President, “ I 
have no objection to giving you my convictions, 
though I fancy they will be different from what 
you are expectiug. As I have before stated, I 
have felt a good deal of interest from the fact 
that I am well acquainted with the parties con- 
cerned. I am not quite prepared to say, as my 
young friend has intimated, that I am not in- 
fluenced by the supernatural, for I am to a cer- 
tain extent. For instance, I believe in God as a 
supernatural being. I believe, too, that he 
answers prayer, when he sees that our petitions 
are for our good, and in accordance with his di- 
vine will. And these answers frequently come 
in ways that we do not look for. Now, about 
this picture in the saucer. The several people 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


19 


who have been to see it, without being told who 
it represents, at once recognized it as the head 
of Jesus Christ. The youngest child and the 
oldest person, as they look upon it say, ‘It is 
the Savior.’ In the last week I have asked my- 
self this question quite often : ‘ How do they know 
it to be the portrait of Christ ?’ And I fancy if 
the query was put to each one of them, no 
satisfactory reply could be given in a single 
case, they could only tell you that it was their 
ideal of Him; that from infancy they had 
been taught to believe that Christ looked like 
that picture. 

“An investigation of the subject of the personal 
appearance of Jesus reveals the fact that there 
is not now, and never has been so far as it is 
known, any authentic or real portrait of the 
Son of God. How, then, we may well inquire, 
has this ideal portrait come to be so generally 
accepted ? Of course there are some reasons for 
it, and I will try to give you the grounds for 
the present accepted ideal portrait. 

“ The earliest of the so-called portraits of Christ 
is from the Catacombs of Saint Calixtus, and 
dates back to the middle of the third century. 
The next earliest is from an emerald, cut in- 
taglio, for the Emperor Tiberius in the sixth 


20 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


century, and I will say in passing that the pic- 
ture in the saucer very closely resembles the 
one on the emerald of the Emperor Tiberius. 
Beside this there is a description of Christ in an 
old manuscript which perhaps antedates either 
of the above. It purports to have been written 
by one Publius Lentulus, a Roman, who was a 
friend of Pontius Pilate, and was in Judea in 
the days of the Son of God. Publius wrote this 
letter to Caesar, and in it he gives a very beauti- 
ful description of Christ, whom he claims to 
have seen. He describes with minuteness the 
hair, eyes and complexion, as well as the ex- 
pression of the Savior. 

“ Without going into details, I will just say 
that all the points by which, in our modern pic- 
tures, we recognize the Messiah are included in 
the so-called Publius Lentulus’ pen f , picture. It 
is well to say, however, that the fact of there 
being such a person as this Roman writer is 
denied, and of course the proving of the denial 
would obliterate the description. But the 
antiquity of the manuscript reaching back to 
the second century is, I believe, admitted to be 
authentic. And though it may not be a 
genuine document, it is interesting as being the 
ideal of those who lived on the earth in those 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


21 


remote days. At any rate there is no question 
but that this description has helped to inspire 
the great portrait painters of the middle ages 
and of modern times. 

“ Then, too, there is that beautiful legend of 
the Catholic Church, of Saint Veronica, who is 
said to have been one of the women who stood 
by the wayside watching that strange proces- 
sion wending its way to Golgotha, of whom 
Jesus was the central figure. The weary form 
of the God-man was bending beneath the heavy 
load of rugged wood formed in the shape of a 
cross, the crown of thorns was on his brow and 
the sweat running down his face. As he passed 
Saint Veronica she noted his forlorn and 
pitiable condition and her heart went out in 
sympathy for him, and taking her veil she 
wiped with it the sweat from his brow. When 
he had passed on his way she found that his 
divine likeness was imprinted on the veil. This 
miraculous picture is said to have been preserved 
in Rome at St. Peter’s Church since the year 
seven hundred, and another with the same 
characteristics is at Milan. 

“ For centuries the mind of the Christian peo- 
ple has been familiar with this type of face and 
head as representing the Redeemer. From the 


22 


THE SILVER BULLET 


pulpit and rostrum, in story and song, at the 
mother’s knee, when twilight shadows have 
brought the hour of evening prayer, these de- 
scriptions we have given have been portrayed, 
until we can form no other conception of the 
personal appearance of the Prince of Peace. 
Poets have sang of his glory and loveliness, 
authors have given their best thought in writ- 
ing of his life and the influence of his work, 
and artists with brush and chisel have en- 
deavored to make him real to us. Is it a 
wonder then that no one has to be told who 
that face in the saucer represents? There is no 
question about this face filling the ideal. For 
proof of this, we ask you to compare it with 
such portraits as may come under your obser- 
vation. If you will examine this head, you will 
find that it is a typical Jewish head. The long 
flowing hair denotes that he is a Nazarene and 
so does the broad face, wide from the eyes back 
to the ears. The nose is also of a Jewish cast. 
These features, with the beard and the forehead 
and the expression of dignity and power on the 
face, are characteristic of an intelligent Hebrew 
and are marks that one might expect to find in 
one that was of the royal line of David. It is 
certainly most remarkable, that coffee grounds, 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


23 


without the aid of human hands to place them, 
and a human brain to design the outlines, 
should have formed themselves into this por- 
trait. 

“So much for the picture. 

“ If you wish to know what I think of it in con- 
nection with Mrs. Timmerman, I will say 
frankly that if I were in her place, I should 
regard its appearance as a direct answer to 
prayer. I reason as a Christian man from this 
standpoint. 

“This woman was in great distress and trou- 
ble. She believed in God and looked to him 
for consolation. She did not dictate terms to 
the Almighty, but in her excessive sorrow, she 
asked him to send her some comforting as- 
surance that should satisfy the immortal long- 
ings of her heart. She prayed, and in a very 
peculiar manner came the face of him who alone 
could comfort. It may be that Christ did 
not in his earthly life bear any resemblance to 
the face in the saucer, but it was the ideal of 
him, and she with the thousands of others who 
saw it, recognized it as such. She accepted the 
answer and was comforted and satisfied. Now, 
if it had been any other face that came she 
might have doubted, but this face of all others 


24 


THE SILVER BULLET 


appeared to her at the conclusion of her devo- 
tions. And the remarkable way in which it 
came was enough to justify her in saying, ‘This 
is of God.’ 

“ I am aware that some will say, ‘ Oh, that was 
an accident. It just happened by chance.’ 
But let us not be too fast about coming to such 
a conclusion. I maintain that there is no such 
thing as chance. There is a cause for every- 
thing. No one can look on this object and say 
it was made by human hands or human design. 
We must conclude then that the Almighty hand 
made it, and that the mind of the Almighty de- 
signed it. And as God never designed or made 
anything without a purpose, it will not be 
stepping aside from the bounds of reason and 
common sense, to conclude that he caused the 
material to assume this form for the express 
purpose of binding up the wounded heart of 
this widow woman, and strengthening her faith 
in him. 

“These, young men, are my views of this 
strange and unusual occurrence. Possibly others 
may not see it as I do, and I do not insist upon 
their doing so. Let us not, however, rob the 
widow of her new-found peace by any attempt 
to criticise the character or quality of her con- 
solation. 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


25 


“ I trust our discussion of the subject here to- 
night will be of some benefit.- ” (Ah, Mr. DeRoque, 
you little knew how much good was to be event-' 
ually derived by one of the company present, 
who, at a later day than that, demonstrated 
the truth of the assertion, that ‘bread cast 
upon the waters shall return after many days).” 

The rest of the meeting was devoted to the 
discussion of how to best plan for carrying out 
one of the rules of the Society, which provided 
for the members spending two periods during the 
year in what they called “field exercises,” the 
time for one of these being now near at hand. 


CHAPTER HI. 


CAMPED IN THE MOUNTAINS. 

T HE Exploring Circle were out for a jaunt. 

At the meeting mentioned in the last chapter, 
the matter had been fully discussed, a route 
laid out, and arrangements made to have what 
the boys believed would be a glorious time. 

The Superintendent of the Mill, where they 
were employed, had consented for them to have 
several weeks vacation, and now with a team 
of four mules and a wagon capable of standing 
the rough mountain roads, loaded down with 
all that was necessary to provide for their com- 
fort, they were pushing for the mountains. 

The company consisted of Mr. DeRoque, the 
four boys previously mentioned, Nick the driver, 
and Uncle Sol, the cook. The two last were 
Negroes. Uncle Solomon was a character, well 
versed in the art of the cuisine, a good, handy, 
all-around man, and withal a great talker 
(with a disposition to tell big tales). He was 
well advanced in years, and having in old slavery 
days been owned by one of the best families, 
who used him as a house servant, was polite 
and courteous and nothing suited him better 
than to talk of the old days when he was owned 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


27 


by Marse John Calhoun, (for it was that gifted 
Statesman of the Palmetto State who was his 
master), the old plantation on the banks of the 
Keowee and Seneca rivers, with its hundreds of 
Negroes, its broad acres that yielded wonderful 
harvests of cotton, corn and wheat, with its 
smokehouses full to overflowing; the abundance 
of fish that swam the stream ; and herds of wild 
deer, with bears and opossums that roamed the 
primeval forests, of oak, or hid in the laurel 
thickets fifty years ago, were to him a dream 
of the Negro’s heaven over which he fondly 
lingered. 

Old Sol had two relics of his old master which 
he valued beyond price. One was an old muzzle- 
loading, flint-lock musket; the other was a 
pearl shirt button, mounted with gold. These 
articles had been given to him by Calhoun per- 
sonally. The musket was a prodigy to Sol, 
who declared that it was superior to all modern 
improved makes, and that it would shoot truer 
and shoot further than any other gun he had 
ever seen. “ Why Boss,” he said to Mr. De- 
Roque, “Marse John, hedonetole disnigger d at 
guu vrould shoot so fur you had to put salt in 
de powder to preserbe de game till you could 
git to it.” This introduction to the old darkey 


28 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


will give the reader some idea of what prime 
company old Sol would be in a camping party. 
So we will leave him for awhile, with the assur- 
ance that he will appear again on the stage of 
this little drama and act his part. The rest of 
the party was armed and equipped for hunting 
and fishing, and also for hunting relics and 
minerals. 

Their route took them through that enter- 
prising mountain city called Greenville ; a place 
which, on account of its location, is destined 
some day to be a great city. Here they pro- 
cured such articles as they had* been unable to 
find in the more limited market at home, and 
then pushed on to a small but pleasant settle- 
ment called Marietta. Here they spent the 
night. It being early in the season there was 
no Inn open in the place to care for travelers. 
The place has a comfortable hotel building that 
is kept open during the summer months, though 
it was closed at this particular time, and un- 
provided with bedding. Mr. DeRoque obtained 
permission to use the empty rooms for that 
one night, that they might not be compelled 
to unpack everything for so short a time. And 
the party took possession of the lonesome 
premises. In making inquiries concerning the 


THE SIL VER BULLET. 


29 


place, Tom Carter chanced to hear one man 
say aside to another man, “I wouldn’t sleep 
in that place for a hundred dollars, for the} 7 say 
the old house is haunted and you can hear people 
dancing up and down the rooms the livelong 
night.” Tom bore this saying in mind, and 
when, after supper, the party began to prepare 
for retiring and each one selected for himself 
some place to roll up in his blanket, Tom con- 
cluded he would try the long, wide dining room 
for his place of repose. It was true that he 
would be alone in that room, but it was within 
easy hearing distance of all the rest, and be- 
side the broad dining table would permit him 
to spread out his blanket without fear of rats 
and vermin who usually prowl about empty 
houses, and then thought Tom, if there should 
happen to be a “haunt” meandering about 
the premises, as those spectral visitors always 
come from the upper part of the house, they will 
have to run over the rest before they get to me, 
in which case I shall have ample opportunity 
to look out for number one. With this consol- 
ing thought he “wrapped the drapery of his 
couch about him ” and lay down to rest. The 
day had been an eventful one in some respects 
and he was tired, consequently he fell into a 


30 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


sound slumber. Just how long he remained in 
that condition he could not tell, but about mid- 
night, as near as he could judge, he was sud- 
denly aroused from sleep by a sound like a clap 
of thunder or the firing of a gun close to him. 
Terrified and half dazed he sprang to a sitting 
posture and tried to penetrate the thick dark- 
ness that filled the place. He listened with 
bated breath to know if the others had been 
alarmed, but he could hear no sound save his 
own quick breathing. Could it be, he pondered, 
that he only imagined he heard the noise? 
Then he thought about what he had heard of 
the house being haunted, and it seemed as if he 
felt his hair rising and standing. The stillness 
was oppressive. Never in all his life did he re- 
member everything being so still. But, great 
heavens! what was that? Footsteps at the 
further end of the room. Yes, some one was 
there, and they were dancing. He could hear 
the footfalls going “pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, pit-a- 
pat, pat, pat, pat.” And they must be spirits 
too, for not even the floor was jarred by the 
movement. With an ear-piercing yell Tom 
sprang to the floor and made for the room 
where most of the others were sleeping. Of 
course his outcry awakened them, and as soon 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


31 


as a lantern was lighted, the question was hur- 
riedly put, “ What is the matter?” 

“Why,” exclaimed one, “Tom looks as if he 
had seen a ghost.” 

“I have,” replied Tom, “or at least I have 
heard one.” 

“ Nonsense ” said Mr. DeRoque, “ you surely 
are not foolish enough to believe in such things. 
Tell us plainly what has happened.” Thereupon 
Tom told how he had been awakened by a 
sound like some one shooting a gun in the room 
and then he heard some one dancing, just a 
regular breakdown, he added. 

“ Well,” said Mr. DeRoque, “if there was any 
one in that room but you they must be there 
now, for I locked the door myself and have 
the key in my pocket and I am sure the win- 
dows were all fastened. But let us go and see 
for ourselves.” So he took t^ie lantern and led 
the way. The boys followed closely after him, 
while Old Sol followed some distance in the 
rear, muttering to himself that “ Marse DeRoque 
better be keerful or dat ar hant would jump 
on him.” Away they went into the dining room. 
Holding the light aloft so it would shine on 
every object in the apartment, the leader gave 
a searching glance about. The windows were 


32 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


all fastened and the door was securely locked 
and bolted on the inside. Then he looked 
severely at Tom Carter and was about to ad- 
minister a rebuke to that young gentleman for 
his rashness in awaking the whole company at 
that unseasonable hour on account of his fool- 
ish and unjustifiable fears, when his ears caught 
a peculiar sound, and his eyes fell upon an ob- 
ject that caused the severity to vanish from his 
brow and a smile to take the place of the re- 
treating frown. What do you imagine, gentle 
reader, he saw that wrought the sudden change ? 
Simply a water bucket with the top band 
bursted off and lying on the floor, while down 
from the shelf on which the bucket stood ran 
a small stream of water that was escaping 
through the cracks of the expanded bucket, and 
as it ran from the shelf to the floor it sang this 
song, “pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, pat, pat 
pat, pat, pat.” 

It seemed that the bucket had not been used 
for some time, therefore had become dry. When 
the water was put into it, the wood expanded, 
this snapped the band and made the noise which 
Tom thought was the firing of a gun, and his 
imagination did the rest. 

They went back to bed in high humor, and 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


33 


when morning came, and for some time after- 
wards, Tom had to endure a good deal of cha- 
fing about his dancing water ghost. That 
young gentleman took the fun good natu redly, 
and would generally reply to the effect that the 
company were out hunting for adventures and 
perhaps some of the rest would have their turn. 
And he added to Dick Griswold, who seemed to 
take the most delight in teasing him. “When 
your time comes, old fellow, I’ll pay you back 
with good interest.” 

Save this little episode of the ghost, there was 
nothing of unusual interest happened to the 
party at Marietta. As the next morning was 
pleasant, an early hour after “ sun-up ” found 
them heading for the mountains, their objective 
point for that day being “Caesar’s Head.” The 
first five or six miles led them along the fertile 
fields and rich bottom lands of the head-waters 
of the Saluda river. Then began the ascent to- 
ward the clouds by winding, tortuous, and in 
some instances almost spiral, paths. On either 
side were the old primeval forests, giant oaks 
and chestnuts, while beneath them was a mass 
of laurel thicket and underbrush, that for 
density would rival the tropical jungles of 
Africa. At this particular time the atmosphere 


34 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


was fragrant with the odors of springtime 
flowers, among which the rhododendron and 
laurel blossoms took the more prominent part 
and made a brilliant foil to the rich green of 
luxriant ferns that were in great abundance 
everywhere. Up, up, the toilers went, stopping 
now and then to rest, and feeling when they did 
so, that the Poet Whittier expressed their senti- 
ments when he wrote these words : 

“ The traveller owns the grateful sense 
Of sweetness near, he knows not whence, 

And, pausing, takes with forehead bare, 

The benediction of the air.” 

Our travellers were in no hurry. They had 
come to see, to investigate and learn some of 
the secrets and lessons contained in the great 
* Volume of Nature. 

And as they tramped up the rocky moun- 
tain trail, each tree and bush, each vine, stone, 
bird and insect, had a voice for them. And 
there was such a multitudinous variety of objects 
to attract their attention that they drew from 
Nat Breed the remark, that one might spend a 
lifetime in the study of the animate and inani- 
mate things about him, and then not have time 
enough to finish the work. 

As we have remarked, the woods and thickets 
around them were dense. Consequently, their 


THE SILVER BULLET. ’ 


35 


vision from any one spot was limited to a nar- 
row space. Mile after mile had been traversed 
and they knew they were going up all the time, 
but nearly all the while they were shut in by a 
space of one hundred yards in length. About 
the middle of the afternoon they came to a 
clearing on which was a long two-storied build- 
ing, with a number of cottages adjacent to it. 
Mr. DeRoque announced that this was the 
Csesars’s Head Hotel, and here said he, we will 
camp for several days. 

The mules were unharnessed, tents un- 
packed, and the camp put in readiness for 
occupancy. Everything had been so well pro- 
vided for that it -took them but a short time to 
attend to these things ; so that within an hour 
of sunset supper had been cooked and eaten, 
the party had been rested somewhat, and Mr. 
DeRoque, whom the boys had dubbed “Captain,” 
proposed that they go out on Caesar’s Head. 

There is something marvelous about this spot 
in the Blue Ridge Mountains. One might go 
within a hundred yards of it by either of the 
ways of approach, and not be aware that he 
was within a thousand miles of one of the finest 
views in the whole world — in fact many people 
have passed it by. Our little company of trav- 


36 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


elers, with one exception, had never been to the 
place before. This exception was the Captain. 
Off they started for the Head, old Uncle Sol as 
usual, bringing up the rear. 

When they had gone about an eighth of a 
mile, they came to a ledge of rock running 
parallel with the road. “ Go up on that rock, 
boys, and you will be on Caesar’s Head,” said the 
Captain. They went upon the rock. Whew! 
what a sight, and what a sensation ! Instinc- 
tively this expression came to the mind, “The 
Lord God Omnipotent reign eth.” The first in- 
clination was to turn and make tracks for the 
hotel as quickly as possible. The next sensation 
was in the heels, that seemed to be inclined to 
come up and pitch them headlong over the cliff, 
which was thirteen hundred feet high, without a 
break. And when they had gone that far, they 
would have rolled as far again before they 
would have reached the bottom of the hole into 
which they were peering. The shock was inde- 
scribable, but gradually recovering their normal 
condition, they began to enjoy the prospect be- 
fore them. The scene is unique. We do not be- 
lieve its counterpart can be found on* the West- 
ern Hemisphere. There are, of course, a 
thousand higher elevations, but no where else 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


37 


the same combination of scenery. On this oc- 
casion the atmospheric conditions were perfect 
for a wide extended view. Points eighty miles 
away can be discerned by the unaided vision, 
while towns and villages within a radius of 
twenty miles were plainly discernible. Off on 
the right is ‘‘Table Rock,” another rugged spur 
of the Blue Ridge, of as high an elevation, but 
being shut in by surrounding hills it does not 
present the wonderful view to be seen from 
Caesar’s Head. How the boys did enjoy the 
scene and the hour! T.hey inhaled great 
draughts of pure ozone into their lungs and 
drank into their minds and memories wide 
vistas of woodland landscape and rare scenes 
of beauty in the form of foliage coloring. 

Each told with somewhat of awe, intermingled 
with mirth, of his sensations as he caught the 
first glimpse of the panorama spread out before 
him. 

“How did you feel. Uncle Sol?” asked Tom 
Carter of the old Negro who still hovered near, 
but with a good safe distance between himself 
and the edge of the cliff. Sol rolled up his eyes 
with a devout look toward heaven, gave a 
gasp, as if speech under the circumstances was a 
great effort, and replied : 

“ I jes tell you what, marsters, dis yer 


38 


THE SIL VER BULLET. 


place am jus awful. I dun no how I does 
feel, sorter like I been swallerin some er 
dat frothy sody water. ’Pears to me I feels 
like I thought I was gwine ter when I voted.” 

“How was that, Sol? I didn’t know you ever 
voted.” 

“Yes, -I did, Massa, jess once— that wus nuff 
fer me. It' wus jest this a way. The word wus 
sent roun’ that all the niggers must be on han 
to vote. I thought bein as all the rest wus a 
gwine to, I might as well git the benefit of it as 
any one. So I fixed up to go to the votiu place. 
An as I was gwine along I thought to myself, 
‘What dis yer votin anyway? What kine of a 
feet will hit have on old Sol?’ An I jest ’magine 
when I goes ter drap dat lettle paper into dat 
box I*d jest feel likejumpin up an crackin my 
heels together an shoutin’ glory, like I feels at 
camp meetin’ sometimes. Well, when I come to 
de votin’ place they give me a piece of white 
paper with somthin on it,. I didn’t know what, 
kase I can’t read, but they sed it wus what I 
must do, so I tuk an march up ter de box as big 
as all git out. Thinks I ter myself, ‘Ole Sol has 
got to de top notch o freedom now. In a few 
minutes arter 1 has d rapped dat paper in dat 
box, I’ll know how fie biggest one ub you feels.’ 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


39 


I belt her ober de hole for a minute or so, kase 
it seemed kinder hard to leave de ole life of not 
bein a voter enny more, den I shut my eyes an let 
her drap. Now, says I, Fer de glory of freedom.’ 
I sorter held my breath fer de fire to come into 
my soul. When de fust thing I noed I got a slam 
in de ribs dat made me let dat bref out mighty 
sudden and sum one yelled, ‘get out o’ here, 
you pestiferous ole nigger. What you a stand- 
ing here all day fer. Git out an give some of 
the rest ob us a chance.’ And sure as 3^ou live 
Boss, when I cum away frum dat ar box I aint 
felt no differunce frum what I did when I went 
thar. An if there was any change in me I aint 
noed it, never, to this day. Bat done me up on 
votin. It wus my fus and last sperience, and I 
jest let you know fur a fac, since dat time wif 
me tater diggin an cotton hoein has had de 
precedunce (as ole Massa Calhoun use ter say) 
ebbery time.” 

The campers all laughed heartily at Sol’s ex- 
perience in voting, from which it seemed he ex- 
pected that voting was something like getting 
religion. 

While they had been sitting and conversing, 
twilight had settled upon the world. The sun 
had gone over the western horizon like a 


40 


the Silver bullet. 


chariot of fire, lighting up the hill tops for a 
time with crimson and golden hues. Then dark- 
ness came on and one by one the stars came 
out from the clear, pure atmosphere above, and 
sparkled like diamonds on afield of black velvet. 
“How large and bright the stars are tonight!” 
said Jack Austin. “ Do you know Captain,” he 
said, turning to Mr. DeRoque, “that ever since 
we had that talk about that face in the saucer 
at the Circle meeting some time ago, that I 
have thought a good deal about the other 
world, and about things above, and I find that 
it is a wonderful theme to contemplate. And 
among other things I have thought about 
heaven, Captain. Is it a locality or a condition ? 
I wish you would give us your views on the 
subject.” 

“Well,” boys, said the Captain, “you have 
started an interesting theme. Decided views on 
the question as a whole would be hard to state 
intelligently. Of course every Christian believes 
in heaven, both as a condition and a locality. 
I understand you have asked the question with 
reference to where God has His throne. To 
point out the exact locality would be to assume 
a knowledge that no earthly being possesses. 
VVe can only speculate as to the situation. 


► 



“CAESAR’S HEAD. 


msem 











THE SILVER BULLET. 


41 


There is a theory I have heard that has inter- 
ested me very much, and I will explain it to you 
as best 1 can, warning yon, that while the 
ground for the argument seems to be reasonable, 
after all the result of the theory must, in the 
end, be pure speculation, for no human being 
does or can know the locality of God’s throne 
in the wense that you wish to know it. 

“There is a movement going on in the universe, 
on such a grand and mighty scale as to fill one 
with wonder and awe when he contemplates it. 
This movement is called by astronomers “The 
procession of the equinoxes?’ There are twin 
years, one of them is called the Siderial Year, or 
Year of the Stars ; the other, the Year of the Sea- 
sons, or Sun, the Equinoctial. The Siderial Year 
is a little longer than the Equinoctial Year, but 
only a small fraction, astronomers say about 
fifty seconds. It used to be thought that some 
of the planets were stationary, the sun for in- 
stance, but it has been discovered that they all 
are in motion, and are all tending in one gen- 
eral direction, around one common center. You 
know it is a principle of science and common 
sense, that if you travel far enough in one direc- 
tion you will have described a complete circle. 
For instance, if one of you should start off to- 


42 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


ward the east, and should go twenty-five thous- 
and miles without deviating from the straight 
easterly course, you would come back to the 
point you started from, and in your journey 
you would have gone in a circle all around the 
world. So it is believed with reference to this 
great procession of stars and planets. They all 
are marching around one central point. In per- 
forming this grand march around the circle they 
take up twenty -five thousand eight hundred and 
sixty-eight years. There is some diversity of 
opinion as to where that center lies, but some 
believe they have found it in the constellation 
of “Pleiades.” (You can see it up there in the 
sky just now. Do you not see that little cluster 
up yonder? There are said to be seven stars in 
the group, though you can count but six of 
them. I have heard people call this cluster 
“Job’s coffin,” and some of you may know it 
by that name.) The central star of the Pleiades 
is “ Alcyon.” And if the theory of some well in- 
formed astronomers is true, this is the center of 
the universe, and according to the argument of 
the others, the Creator has his throne estab- 
lished at this point, and there is Heaven, the 
Home of the Soul. There is nothing very un- 
reasonable about this theory. In fact it is 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


43 


rather a pleasing conceit than otherwise, but as 
we have before remarked, to reach this conclu- 
sion we must invade the realm of speculation, 
and the moment we do that we stand in pre- 
cisely the same position we did before we began 
this argument. 

“So much for the locality. Of course I need 
not inform such young men as you are, 
that if you shape your lives according to the 
Bible, you will have the Kingdom of Heaven 
begun within you, and by that means wilj 
experience the condition.” Here the Captain 
paused. Dick Griswold, who was the quiet 
member of the party, and who had been paying 
the strictest attention to what was being said, 
now departed from his usual taciturnity and 
remarked that he was glad the subject had 
been brought up, for he was in almost total 
ignorance about the stars and planets, and in 
fact about the world we live upon, and he hoped 
during this trip he would be able to store his 
mind with new facts on these subjects. 

Old Sol had been listening to the conversation 
with wide-eyed wonder, and occassionally threw 
in an ejaculation, such as “ Jes listen at dat 
now, de Captain am a tellin’ it. all. v 

“ Sol,” said Tom Carter, more in a spirit of 


44 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


mischief than anything else, “ What is your 
idea about the earth ? Have you got any 
notion about it at all ?” 

“ Ob course I has,” answered the old darkey, 
“ebber sence I done heerd Marse Calhoun an 
some big folks dat cum to see him one time talk- „ 
ing about de bobolution o’ tings, I done fix er 
up in my min all about the hull contrapsion.” 
(The boys did not see it, but Sol’s eyes had as 
much mischief as was in Tom Carter’s.) “My no- 
tion,” he continued, “is dat dis ole earf am a 
monstus big critter, de woods an’ trees an’ bushes 
am de hair, dem tings what folks calls volcaners 
is nuffin but big biles a bustin’ out in spots on 
him, an what we calls earf quakes is when de 
critter has a chill an’ shakes hisself, an what we 
calls harry canes an slycoons is when he gits 
pretty well tuckered out, and has to breav 
harder ’n common. De Captain has jest bin tell- 
iu’ how de work am all de time in motion, a 
goin’ roun’ and roun’. Cos if dat am de case 
de critter bleeged to wuk powerful hard, 
dat make him sweat, an dat how cum de rivers 
an lake an pons. When day drys up dat shows 
he’s a lettin’ up on his wuk.” 

“Hold on Sol,” interposed Tom, “How 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


45 


about the folks who live on the world? How do 
you straighten that out?” 

Hits jest dis away, Marster Tom. Hasn’t you 
ebber seen folks dat has nits and nats and tings 
in der head? Dats how it am wif de critter day 
call de worl’, de folks an’ animiles dats a roam- 
in’ round on it am de nits an nats an tings.” 

“ This last remark brought a roar of laughter 
from the crowd, who thereupon broke up and 
made their way back to the camp. Old Sol 
chuckled to himself, “ Nigger may be big fool in 
some tings, but it tak’ somtliin’ wif more har 
on he chin dan Tom Carter got to down Sol 
when Sol mak’ up his min’ dat he can’t do it.” 


CHAPTER V. 


A FIELD DAY FOR THE CIRCLE. 

ORNING had come again. A good night’s 



1 V 1 rest in the pure mountain atmosphere had 
refreshed our party. The sun shone bright and 
beautiful over head, but when some of them 
who were fascinated with the view of the even- 
ing before, went out on Caesar’s brow, they were 
surprised to find the scene all blotted out. 
Dame nature, the wizard alchemist, had sent 
forth a gust of her vapory breath over the 
valleys and plains below, as if she were fearful 
that mortals would enjoy too great a share of 
her marvelous treasures of beauty at one time. 
In her avaricious spite she hid them from view 
by the surging waves of an opaque vapory sea, 
Tolling hither and thither on the winds. To the 
young men who had planned to go down the 
mountain side some distance in search of 
minerals the prospect was forbidding, as they 
they looked in the depths below. But, the sun, 
like a fiery chariot rushing up over the eastern 
hills threw her beams of radiant light and 
warmth on the dark recesses of the “ dismal,” 
(which is the name by which this deep basin in 
front of Caesar’s Head is known,) and gradually 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


47 


the thick vapors melted away, the fogs disap- 
peared and once more the wondrous cyclorama 
burst upon their vision. As beautiful as it had 
been in the gathering twilight of the evening 
before, it was exceeded by the splendor which 
the rays of the morning sun cast upon it. The 
trees were covered with sparkling dew drops 
that shone like the gems on a thousand dia- 
dems ; the woods were vocal with the songs of 
the birds and insects. 

Imagine, reader, the contrast to the routine 
of daily scenes and toil that composed the lives 
of our young friends. They were engaged in a 
business that confined them within brick walls 
for the greater part of the day, their view 
limited to a space occupying one hundred feet 
long by perhaps seventy-five feet wide, and their 
minds concentrated on machinery of the most 
ingenious patterns. 

The work was light and profitable, and they 
enjoyed it, for it was honest, honorable em pi oy- 
rnent, conducive to activity of mind and body, 
but everything around them was the manipu- 
lation of the mind and hands of men, the crea- 
tions of human brains. From those confines of 
human creation they were now gazing on the 
creations of God. And as the light is appre- 


48 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


ciated all the more because of the dark- 
ness, and as riches seem all the more valu- 
able because one has tasted the fruits of 
poverty, so the very fact that their labor of life 
had been passed in-doors, enabled them to enjoy 
to the full this exceeding 1 great contrast of sur- 
roundings. And they found, as others have and 
will find, a paucity of fitting words to express 
their emotions and sentiments concerning what 
they saw. 

The sound of Uncle Sol’s conch shell horn now 
reminded them that they had ravenous appe- 
tites and 'that the body as well as the mind 
must be fed, so they hurried to breakfast, and 
here was another contrast. A few moments be- 
fore they had stood on the rocky eminence, 
with faces lighted up with the impression of sub- 
lime and lofty thoughts, the eye flashing with 
poetic fire till they seemed like beings ethereal, 
but now, with the aroma of fresli-made coffee 
around them, fresh eggs and fried ham and 
some crackling bread, they proved themselves 
to be of the earth earthy. 

When justice had been done to the homely but 
healthy and hearty viands, the Captain ad- 
dressed them in a few words as to the occupa- 
tions of the day. “You may go in any direc- 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


49 


tion you choose, ” he said, “but do not go too 
far away on this, the first day. Some of the 
woods are like a veritable jungle, and it will be 
very easy to get lost in them. Each of you 
have a pocket compass about your person, and 
my advice to you is that you take your bearing 
before starting, then if you should chance to go 
away from the worn trails you are following, be 
very careful to take notice of your surroundings 
and make some marks whereby the path may 
be retraced. You will also take your pencils 
and note books along, so as to make a record of 
any matter or object worth preserving. To- 
night when all have returned, we will exchange 
notes, examine specimens and talk over the ex- 
periences of the day. I shall not accompany 
either of you in your trips today/ for I have 
some writing to do, then I shall go out on thS 
Head to read and take a sunbath for several 
hours. These employments with the rest of 
body and mind that will come to me, will make 
the day pass off very comfortably, and I shall 
be in. good condition to talk over your adven- 
tures of the day. So bidding you to use judg- 
ment and care about climbing about these dan- 
gerous cliffs, I wish you a pleasant and profit- 
able day, and bid you good morning.” 


50 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


The boys now prepared for the day’s research 
on the mountain. Tom and Dick formed one 
party, Nat and Jack made the other. Having 
provided a lunch they slung their leathern 
knapsacks over their shoulders and started off 
in different directions. It is not our purpose to 
follow them through the experiences of this day, 
step by step. We prefer to let them tell the story 
with their own lips when they shall gather 
about the camp fire at night. Suffice it to say, 
that the purpose of these mountain walks was 
two fold; the first was the recuperation of 
health, and the second the pursuit of know- 
ledge and information. The locality was con- 
ducive to both. It is a well known fact to 
scientific men that the Blue Ridge Mountains 
present a rare field for research to both the 
miueralogist and the botanist, as well as being 
a favorite resort for health-seekers and lovers 
of art and nature. It having in the past been 
so far removed from great manufacturing cen- 
ters, and the people being prejudiced in favor 
of aricultural pursuits, the exploration of the 
region for the purpose of developing its mineral 
wealth has been so limited as to result in prac- 
tically nothing of importance. Nevertheless the 
mountains abound in mineral wealth and some 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


5 L 


day the mountain mines will be a greater source 
of wealth to the people of the commonwealth 
than are the cotton and rice fields of the sea- 
board. 

Into this unusual and, to them, almost en- 
chanted region the boys had gone. The hours 
of the bright beautiful day passed all too quickly 
but they were careful to heed the admonitions 
of the Captain not to go too far. An hour or so 
before sundown found them wending their w^ay 
back to camp with the sacks they bore well 
filled with specimens of various kinds. Sol had 
a good warm supper all ready for them, of which 
they partook with keen appreciation. Every- 
thing about the camp had been put in ship- 
shape, so to speak. In the big tent hammocks 
were swung, the wagon seats were arranged 
before the door and just outside, in front a 
ditch three feet wide and six feet long by one 
foot deep had been dug, in which a bed of coals 
from an oak wood fire was sending forth a 
grateful warmth, which took off the chill from 
the night air. 

There was a smaller tent in which the driver 
and the cook had their quarters and slept at 
night time. The boys called this smaller tent 
“ Bedlam ” from the discordant snores that 


52 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


issued therefrom when its inmates had fallen 
asleep. 

Old Sol, as has been already noted, had an 
inquisitive and investigative turn of mind, and 
when, after supper, the camp had been set in 
order for the night, he asked the privilege of 
sitting with his employers until bed time. 
“Captain/’ he said “dis yer old darkey aint 
overstocked with information, an to git an 
average share I’ve got ter do all the listenin’ 
I kin, an I’d be powerful proud if you’d just let 
me set and hear you all talk.” 

Of course so slight a boon as this was readily 
granted — in fact, if aid Sol had not asked to be 
one of the circle, the bo3 T s, who loved to hear 
his quaint sayings, would have been sure to 
to have called him. Tom Carter especially was 
in his native element when there was any fun 
going on, and he knew that while Sol would re- 
sent being a butt for the crowd he would make 
an agreable foil for his own propensity for 
fun making. So the old cook took his place 
by the wood pile in order to keep the fire going, 
the others ranged themselves in comfortable 
attitudes, jvhile the Captain opened the meeting, 
so to speak, by saying: 

“Now, young men, we will hear the result of 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


53 


your day’s experience. Tom, as you are gifted 
in speech, you may be the spokesman of your 
party.” 

“Well,” said Tom, “my chum and I started 
down the. mountain side in the direction of 
Table Rock. We had no definite plan in view, 
and concluded it would be just as well to take 
things as they came, for everything was new 
and interesting to us. Perhaps we had gone a 
mile when we came to quite a branch running 
down the mountain side. This seemed to be a 
strange thing to me, for how in the world, I 
reasoned, can it be possible for so much water to 
find its way to the surface at such a height. 
Then I remembered that right on top of the 
mountain, at ' our camp, was a clear, bold 
spring of the coldest kind of water, and the 
mystery in view of this fact deepened. (Some- 
time, Captain, I would like tg have you explain 
the matter if you can.) We wondered if there 
were any fish in the stream and began to search 
for signs of them, but the only indication we 
could observe was this ‘ Crawfish.’” Here Tom 
held up a specimen of that species of the crab 
family, about four inches in length. This par- 
ticular one was of a blueish tinge. “The craw- 
fish was of no special interest to us,” he added, 


54 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


“but being* the first thing that we found on our 
tour of investigation we brought him along. 
It is said that when these things get a little 
longer they are good eating, but I do not be- 
lieve I could eat one, for it would make me feel 
as if I were eating a spider. Beyond the curi- 
osity of finding him so high up in the world I 
can see no practical use for him, so we will call 
investigation number one a failure, and I will 
proceed to pitch him beyond the confines of the 
camp.’ 7 He was about to do so, when Sol 
spoke up and said : 

“Hob on Marse Tom; 1 aint no skvantic 
pusson like you purfesses to be, but I nose dat 
ar crawfish am a valuable critter. Don frow im 
away but gib im to me.” 

“All right,” replied Tom, “you may have 
him, but I must say that I am curious to see 
what you will do with him, use him for a charm 
like a ‘rabbit foot,’ I reckon.” 

“No 1 aint,nuther,” the Negro chuckled, “day 
aint gwine be any congurin gwine on here, jest 
you hob your bref a minit or two an I'll show 
yer suffin.” With that he took out his pocket 
knife, laid the crawfish across a stick of wood, 
cut its head open right between the eyes, and 
with the point of his knife picked out from 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


55 


either side of the head two small objects about 
the size of the head of a pin. These he carefully 
wrapped up in a piece of paper and put them 
into his pocket book, remarking as he did so, 
“sum er you boys may hav ’casion ter be 
thankful fer dis yer precedin’ afore dis trip am 
ober.” 

“ But what are they ? What do you use them 
for?” persisted Tom. 

“ Doan any you white folks know wat dese 
things am for?” the old man queried as he 
looked around with an astonished air. As no 
one made reply he continued, “ Dem objec’s am 
nuffiu mor’ or less dan ‘eye-stones/ if any ob 
you should happen ter get a moat in de eye, 
all you liab to do is ter put one ob dese stones 
under the lid an he will sail around an round in 
dar til he cotch dat moat den he’ll drap out. 
Mighty quar ting to me dat none er you sky- 
atic chaps did’n know about it, it done look ter 
me dat a leetle hoss sense ud be a mighty good 
ting ter mix up wid de skyance.” 

Good for you Sol, was the hearty response 
from all sides, and it proved that none of the 
circle had before been acquainted with this 
fact about the eye-stones, consequently it went 
down in the annels of their “pilgrimage,” that 


56 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


the first item of information they had obtained 
as the result of their work of exploration had 
been given to them by an ignorant, humble, 
son of Ham. Again Tom Carter took up the 
narrative of their adventures during the day. 

“ When we left the mountain branch, we went 
on perhaps a half mile further and came upon 
a ‘log cabin/ which was inhabited by a man 
about thirty years of age— a wife and child 
were his companions. He invited us to sit 
awhile with him, and we were glad to do so, 
and in answer to his inquiries told him about 
our trip, that we were out on a tour for health 
and knowledge, and were hunting for specimens 
of minerals and curios of all kinds. ‘ Well/ 
said the stranger, ‘ I reckon this will be some- 
thing in your line. I found them out on the 
mountain this morning/ and he produced this 
pair of buck horns (here Tom showed them to 
the party.) We asked him how long he sup- 
posed the deer had been shot, to which he 
replied that the deer had not been shot at all 
but had shed his horns, and then we learned 
what we did not know before— that this is an 
annual occurence with the deer tribe.” 

, This also proved to be information to most 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


57 


of the party, so me. of whom had never seen a 
deer. 

“ We then asked our new acquaintance if he 
had ever taken any interest in looking up 
the minerals in the vicinity. * No/ he answered, 
‘all rocks were alike to him, but he imagined if 
any one took the fancy they .could spend a life- 
time at the business in these mountains, for 
there was variety enough. I believe though/ he 
added, ‘there is a rock a little ways from here 
that is somewhat different from anything else 
on the place. And if you will go with me I will 
show you where it is.’ Down on one end of his 
farm we went, and found as he had informed us 
that there was a mineral unlike anything we 
had ever seen. It was a shelly rock in layers of 
from one-quarter to two inches in thickness, 
and seemed to be of a sandstone variety. At 
first sight it seemed to be so smooth and even 
that we almost suspected it was formed artifi- 
cially, but from the way it lay in the ground we 
knew that it could not be of an artificial 
character. We thought, however, that it was 
worth taking note of, and also, that it would 
be wise to bring some specimens into camp. 
Here they are.” Suiting the action to the 
word-, Tom laid three or four sections of the 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


58 • 

stone he had been describing on a board in the 
firelight, at the same time inviting the circle to 
examine them, and, if they were able, to inform 
him what the specimens were. Of course they 
were examined with a good deal of interest, but 
no one of the boys being able to give the rock 
a name, all eyes were turned toward the Cap- 
tain to see what he. would have to say about 
it, as it was noticed that in looking them over 
he had given them unusual attention. 

The Captain saw their expectancy and after 
due deliberation, said : “ Young men, I recognize 
the mineral, but must say that I am surprised 
to find that it occurs in this locality, though I 
presume that one should not be surprised to 
find almost anything on these mountains. It 
is what is known among mineralogists as flex- 
ible sandstone. If you will take a specimen up, 
as l am now doing, by one end, and holding it 
firmly, shake it you will find that it rocks and 
vibrates like a piece of rubber. While it is flex- 
ible it is not quite so much so as rubber, but a 
a piece eighteen inches in length is pliant 
enough to bend, under pressue without break- 
ing, some four or five inches. A find of this 
flexible sandstone a few years ago w r ould have 
been considered a great piece of good fortune, 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


59 


for it was a theory with some mineralogists at 
one time, that wherever this occurred it was 
also a sure indication that diamonds could be 
found in the same locality. Of course the 
theory was formulated in consequence of the 
fact that diamonds had been found in con- 
nection with the sandstone. I think, however, 
that the idea is now pretty well exploded, and 
that one might explore a thousand beds of 
flexible sandstone without finding a trace of a 
diamond, though on the other hand one might 
occasionally find the two in close proximity to 
each other. The stone has no practical value, 
though it is interesting on account of the novel 
and curious flexibility it possesses. 1 am glad, 
Torn, that you were thoughtful enough to bring 
several pieces, for they will make good cabinet 
specimens, and are rare enough to amuse and 
entertain our friends with.” 

“Now,” said Tom, “here is something that I 
brought along for two reasons. It is some 
sand I found in a branch. It is full of bright red 
particles and I could see that some of them 
must be crystals, from the color and perfect 
uniform shape they present. I take them to 
be garnets. Please pass your opinion on the 
find, Captain.” Here Tom handed Mr. De- 


60 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


Roque a small tin box full of [the sand he 
had procured. 

The Captain took the box and examined its 
contents for a moment or two, then remarked ; 
“ Those red particles are evidently small garnets 
and from simply looking at them, I should say 
that you have come upon what is known as 
‘garnet sand.’ The crystals are so minute that 
they are not likely to have any commercial 
value, though some of them might be used as 
jewels in watch movements. This kind of sand 
is somewhat of a rarity ; you will observe how 
clean and bright it looks. Now, be patient a 
few moments and I will show you a beautiful 
sight.” The Captain then went to a chest he 
had brought as a part of the camp equippage, 
and took therefrom a neat microscope capable 
of a magnifying power of fifty diameters. Hav- 
ing arranged the tubes and slides, he placed a 
small quantity of the sand on a clean piece of 
glass, this he placed under the lens and then 
looked through the microscope upon it. As he 
did so he gave utterance to a pleased expres- 
sion of surprise, and bade his companions to 
come forward and examine. And truly it was 
a wonderful sight. As one looked down the 
hollow brass tube he seemed to be gazing upon 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


61 


a. bushel of pure, beautiful, brilliant gems, as 
large as grapes, that sparkled and scintillated 
in the firelight. Some of the grains were quartz 
crystals, perfect six-sided prisms, running to a 
point at the ends, and looked as if the hand of 
a skilled lapidary had expended his most 
exquisite taste in fashioning them ; then there 
were the rounded crystals of garnet, whose 
even facets rivaled those of the quartz crystals 
in perfectness and beauty, and their coloring 
was of so deep and pure a hue, that they 
seemed more like rubies than garnets. Other 
crystals were of a tinge that showed them to be 
amethysts. Perhaps fifty per cent, of the 
grains under the lens were of irregular shape, 
and of yellow color, and others were of a jet 
black. These latter as they caught the rays of 
the firelight, seemed themselves to be on fire 
and appeared to be emiting a clear white flame, 
like unto that which comes from an electric 
lamp. 

The campers were filled with wonder and 
admiration at the sight and told the Captain 
that they did not blame him, who usually was 
ve’ry conservative in his remarks, for being 
betrayed into an exclamation of delight. “ You 
are mistaken there, my young friends,” he re- 


62 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


plied’ “ I have seen too many such sights to be 
surprised at this one, though I confess to al- 
ways being delighted with work under the 
microscope. But my surprise was brought 
about by a different cause. You noticed that 
about fifty per cent, of the grains of sand under 
* the glass were of a yellow color, somewhat 
resembling a topaz, but not transparent like 
that gem. It was the discovery of these yellow 
grains that pleased and surprised me, for, 
unless I am very much mistaken, they comprise 
that valuable and somewhat rare mineral 
known as ‘Monazite,’ the properties of which 
of late have been found to be of value in the 
preparation of electrical appliances. Of course 
its presence in this sand proves that it has 
been washed from its native locality to where 
Tom found it, and that there must be a deposit 
of it somewhere on this mountain. If we had 
come here in the character of real practical 
prospectors this find might lead to something 
of real value, but as we have only come for the 
purpose of recreation and to pick up what in- 
formation we can in that capacity, we have 
neither the time nor the money to follow up the 
discovery to a profitable termination. We 
must however make a careful note of the locality, 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


63 


for it may and will prove of interest and more 
profit to those who now, or hereafter may own 
the property, as well as to mineralogists in 
other sections who are always interested in 
knowing the place where minerals ' may be 
found.” “Captain,” said Dick Griswold, “I 
noticed that under the microscope the grains of 
quartz were very prett}^, and so nicely shaped 
that they seem like diamonds; this had 
led me in the last few minutes to think about 
the composition of diamonds. They say that 
diamonds are only one form of pure carbon, the 
other form of carbon being mineral graphite or 
black lead. Now, as the diamond is the crys- 
talized form of uncombined carbon, it seems to 
me that some process might be discovered to pro- 
duce these crystals artificially. The gems are of 
such an exceeding great value I should think 
that chemists would put themselves to much 
trouble and expense to unravel the mystery 
which so far has been locked up in the bosom of 
nature.” 

“Jingoes,” ejaculated Tom Carter, “why 
Dick, you almost take my breath away. What 
an immense idea! And just think of the conse- 
quences, too! If the art of producing real 
diamonds is ever discovered it’s obliged to 


64 


THE SILVER BULLET 


cheapen the price of those brilliants. J ust think 
of it, a man could take a handful of black lead 
and make another ‘kohinor’ out of it. Wouldn’t 
it make some of the so-called wealth of the 
world shrink, though ! Think of the millions of 
dollars invested in the crown jewels of the 
various realms of the world. I understand that 
the Kohninor diamond itself is valued at two 
millions of dollars. Why, there’s no computing 
the crash, the disaster, the downfall, if the in- 
flated bubble of diamond wealth was pricked 
and the value let out of it all at once by the 
proposed invention you suggest, Dick. But 
there is no fear of its coming about. You can 
invent counterfeit paste diamonds, but the real 
thing is uninveutable.” 

“ Hold on, Tom, not quite so fast with 
your conjectures,” broke in the Captain, 
“ It may be a matter of surprise to 
you to learn that real diamonds have been pro- 
duced by artificial means, but nevertheless it is 
a fact. A method for the artificial production 
of these gems has been discovered. The dis- 
coverer, M. Moissau, took advantage of the 
well-known property possessed by melted iron, 
of absorbing and diffusing carbon through its 
mass. He saturated the highly heated iron 


I 


THE SILVER BULLET . 


65 


with carbon by infusing into it a quantity of 
purified sugar. By suddenly cooling the melted 
metal, he formed a solid crust over the still 
liquid interior ; as the mass continued to cool 
the interior gradually solidified, but was pre- 
vented from expanding by the still rigid ex- 
terior. The interior was thus solidified under 
an enormous pressure. During the hardening, 
the carbon solidified in part as diamond, in- 
stead of graphite. The result was that a small 
quantity of diamonds were formed. The crystals 
were minute in size, but were clear and beautiful, 
and possessed all the qualities and properties of 
the natural gems. The only thing against the 
method so far is that it does not produce large 
specimens, but with a plan once evolved is it 
unreasonable to anticipate that in the course of 
time it may be carried to any extent desirable. 
Your idea of the fall in the price of diamonds 
may not prove to be altogether a mere fancy, 
for some fortunate improvement on the method 
before stated may make them as cheap as glass 
baubles. 

The idea of producing gems artificially is 
not a new one, for some very beautiful speci- 
mens of various kinds have been made in the 
Laboratory. Here Tom Carter again inter- 


66 


TEE SILVER BULLET. 


rupted the discourse by asking if there were not 
a great probability of making gold artificially 
as well as diamonds. To which the Captain re- 
plied : “ No,” for there was no combination of 
metals that would produce gold, or that would 
take its place. It had been the dream and 
work of men for centuries, to find a substitute 
for it, but every effort had failed. Back in the 
dark ages there was a popular belief that a 
certain stone, called the “philosopher’s stone,” 
had the property of converting the baser metals 
into gold. This stone, of course, was an imagi- 
nary object existing only in the superstitious 
fancy of those who desired that such a thing 
might be, but the belief in its reality and the 
wonderful things that it could accomplish if it 
could only be found was so general, that manjr 
a person spent years and fortunes in the search 
for it. To this day men are spending much ef- 
fort to find an artificial substitute for pure gold, 
but all such efforts will be like the many at- 
tempts, to construct a machine that will have a 
perpetual motion. “I wish,” he added, “that 
we had a specimen of the native ore with us. 
An examination of it would be interesting and 
profitable. 

“ Well, Nat,” he said, as that individual held 


THE SILVER BULLET . 


67 


out his hand in which was an object that he 
evidently held in high esteem, “ What have 
you there? ” 

“That’s what I wanted you to tell me,” said 
Nat. “I found it in my rambles today, and 
have been waiting for Tom to get that long 
tongue of his unwound so I could get in a word 
edgeways.” The object proved to be a speci- 
men of some kind of mineral in the form of a 
cube, about two inches square, of a yellow 
color. When the Captain took it into his 
hand, he smiled as if he recognized it as an old 
friend. The company about the camp fire, who 
had caught a glimpse of the gleaming, yellow 
treasure, leaued forward with eager anticipa- 
tion to hear what their leader would have to 
say about what gave promise of being the 
most valuable and interesting object that had 
yet been presented, while Nat, the lucky finder, 
looked as if he had grown some inches taller 
in the knowledge of his possession. The 
verdict came in these words:, “This is a very 
large pretty specimen of ‘iron pyrites.’” 

“ What’s iron pyrites?” growled Nat, subsid- 
ing several inches from the attitude of a 
moment before. 

“ Iron pyrites is what is sometimes called 


68 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


“ fool’s gold,” from its supposed resemblance to 
the real article, but when the two are once com- 
pared it can be readily seen that there is really 
no resemblance between them. Gold is of a dull, 
but rich, beautiful yellow hue, while this specimen 
is of a bright, shiny, glassy hue. Gold is soft and 
malleable like lead, while this is hard and brittle, 
and under the hammer will crumble like glass. 
It is sometimes called sulphurate of iron. I 
will show you an experiment.” Saying which, 
he took a flat piece of iron and heated it in the 
glowing coals of the camp fire till it reached a 
white heat ; in the meantime he had broken off 
a piece of the specimen in question, and with 
the head of an axe, pulverized it to a fine powder. 
Placing the powder on the hot iron— in a 
moment or two it was observed that a dense 
smoke arose from it— and old Sol, who in his 
earnest, excitable manner had pushed his head 
right over it, gave a quick, cat-like sneeze, clutched 
his nose with his right hand and yelled out, 
“Grinstun’s and .hatchets, dis nigger smell 
brimstun powerful. Whew!” Nor was he alone 
in his experience, for all within the tent were 
sensible of a dense, strong, sulphurous odor 
permeating the atmosphere, and when they 
looked to see what had become of the “ pyrites” 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


(>9 


they found that nothing now remained but a 
few particles of rusty looking ashes— very dif- 
ferent were they from the bright, yellow appear- 
ance of a few moments before. 

“Well, well,” said Nat Breed, “I must say 
that’s an eye-opener for me. I have been carry- 
ing that stuff about nearly all day feeling 
almost certain that 1 had a lump of pure gold, 
or something in which gold largely predomi- 
nated, and to have it turn out that way!” 

“ Laws a mighty,” muttered Sol, “ if dar’s any 
gold about dat ar stuff it mus’ be de debbel’s 
own, fum de way it smell. I tell yer what, Marse 
Nat, yer had better turn loose fum all dat yere 
kin’ er tixin’, kase yer might git ter lovin’ it fer 
sure and wen yer do dis nigger wouldn’t give 
much for your chances er gittin into de king- 
dom er glory.” 

The Captain laughed heartily at these exploits 
and told Nat that he was not the only person 
who had been deceived into believing that he 
had found a fortune in the same way. “There 
comes to my mind just now,” he continued, 
“an amusing incident told by Professsor Hitch- 
cock, who was State Geologist of the State of 
Massachusetts about half a century ago. One 
day there came into his office a gentleman from 


70 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


the rural districts, who held in his hand a red 
bandanna handkerchief full of chunks of ‘iron 
pyrites/ He threw his bundle on the Professor’s 
table, and said : ‘ Mr. Hitchcock, I want you to 
tell me what this is.’ The Professor examined 
it and told him just what it was. The country- 
man looked somewhat dazed and puzzled at 
the name given, and wanted to know what in 
the world he meant by ‘iron pyrites/ The State 
Geologist told him that some people called it 
‘fool’s gold.’ Then he showed him, by an ex- 
periment similar to this we have tried tonight, 
the nature of the mineral. Wide-eyed and wide- 
mouthed, his visitor saw his treasure disappear, 
like Alladiu’s Geni, in a cloud of smoke, and 
through his clenched teeth came the expression, 

‘ Wal, I swan. And you say, Professor, that 
that stuff aint gold at all?’ ‘Not a particle of 
gold in it,’ was the answer. ‘Then I am bod- 
aciouslv sold,’ came the despairing wail, ‘for I 
have just married a widow with a hull hill full 
of the stuff.’ And he left the State Geologist’s 
office in great disgust. The story is an old one, 
but it always comes into my mind when I see 
a person, who, for the first time, gets hold of a 
specimen of this mineral without knowing the 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


71 


true nature of it. You will pardon me boys, 
for interjecting that trite saying, ‘All is not gold 
that glitters.’ Geologically speaking, it will be 
well for you if you get the sense of that adage 
well into your minds. At the same time I com- 
mend to your notice another and truer adage* 
in these words : ‘ Nothing is gold that glitters.’ 

Pure, unalloyed gold does not have a shining or 
glittering appearance.” 

“Now, Nat, as Thomas has exhausted his 
store, and you seem to be spokesman for your 
company of pilgrims, we will hear what else you 
have to offer and see if your specimens have an 
interest equal to those of the gentleman who 
has preceded you.” Nat hereupon took from 
his receptacle specimens and handed to the Cap- 
tain, saying as he did so that they represented 
the fruit of some ten or twelve miles tramping. 
There had been no special events of interest con- 
nected with the gathering of them, and two of 
them had been given to him by persons whom 
he had met, who had given the assurance that 
they were not rare in the neighborhood, but 
could be easily obtained by one who would take 
the trouble to look for them. As usual the 
leader conned them over carefully before 
commenting on the properties and character- 


72 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


istics of each. Group No. 1, of which there were 
some fifty specimens, were coarse garnets, with 
a few very fine, perfect crystals mingled with 
them. These Nat had found in a boulder, less 
than half a mile from Caesar’s Head. He had 
neglected to take a good, strong drill and heavy 
hammer along, so had been compelled to pound 
them out of the boulder with another and 
harder stone. The consequence was that nearly 
every one of any size had been bruised and 
shattered, and so were rendered valueless, even 
if the.y had been perfect gems. “ How I did wish 
we had a good, heavy hammer and drill,” Nat 
lamented. “ The garnets were as thick as plums 
in a pudding,” and he was sure he could have 
saved a half bushel of them if he had only been 
thoughtful enough to have made the proper 
preparations for it. He only made the attempt 
to secure the specimens before them because he 
was afraid if he left them ungathered he would 
never be able to re-locate the exact spot again, 
but he was determined at sometime during their 
sojourn to make an attempt to find the place, 
when he had no doubt he would be able to reap a 
still richer harvest of these interesting crystals, 
and thereby enrich the cabinets of his friends, if 
nothing more. The second specimen of Nat’s 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


73 


collection for the day proved to be a fragment 
weighing some five pounds. It was of irregular 
shape. A. yellow jasper formed the base. This 
was tumbled together in a curious way. But 
its greatest peculiarity was the fact that it was 
coated all over vvith the finest and most bril- 
liant quartz crystals imaginable. None of the 
party had ever seen anything just like it, but 
the Captain expressed himself as believing it to 
be a geodic formation. He begged Nat to let 
hi in have it for his cabinet, which the generous 
hearted boy readily did, and it now forms one 
of the most beautiful and admired specimens of 
the collection in the Snuggery at Piedmont. 

Specimens No. 3 were a number of greyish 
crystals of varying sizes, none of them large. They 
w T ere pointed at both ends, and were tetrogonal 
or four-sided. They had no difficulty in recog- 
nizing them as crystals of zircon, which they 
afterward found occurs in this locality in con- 
siderable quantities. Beside these stones men- 
tioned above, Nat’s find comprised some gross 
specimens of corundum, with blue streaks run- 
ning through them, showing that in the chemi- 
cal arrangement of the primitive rock how 
nearly they missed being formed into sapphires. 


74 


the Silver bullet . 


There was also some ordinary asbestos and 
some very fine talc. 

Now, we are aware that some of the young 
readers of this story will not have much fancy 
for the rehearsal of the finding and description 
of these minerals, but we assure them that all 
of these things were of great interest to our 
young friends, and we are certain that they will 
be to those youthful readers, who, like the 
young men of our party, spend their youth in 
honest toil, and having been denied the privi- 
leges of a classical and scientific training in the 
schools, make up for that great loss as far as 
they can by careful observation in the practical 
school of experience. 

This description, too, is a fair sample of how 
many of the days of this pilgrimage were spent. 
Those chats around the camp fire at night were 
full of lessons that made indellible impressions. 
This, however, is by the way. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE CAPTAIN’S EXPERIENCE. 

T HE last chapter ended the account of what 
the boys found on their first day’s outing in 
the mountains. The Captain, it will be remem- 
bered, did not take a tramp, but remained in 
camp for the purpose of resting and writing. 
When his young associates had finished an ac- 
count of their adventures, one said to their 
elderly comrade, “ Well, Captain, how did you 
spend the day? And what have you done to 
make it one of profit and not of loss?” 

“It has not been a day of loss, I can assure 
you,” was the reply. “The early hours were 
spent in writing. I then took in the magnifi- 
cent view again, of which it would seem one 
can never grow weary. Then I started out 
through the woods and halted beneath a large 
tree, whose thick foliage made a grateful shade. 
Sitting down to rest I became absorbed in 
thought. While in this easy condition of mind, 
my eyes wandered about listlessly. Suddeuly 
there came within the range of my vision, right 
in front of me, an object that caused me to 
spring to my feet with an exclamation of aston- 


76 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


ishment; I think at that moment I could ap- 
preciate the feeling that the great writer, Daniel 
DeFoe, put into the mind of his celebrated 
character, Robinson Crusoe, when, after the 
lapse of some years of his lonely life on his island 
home, he caught for the first time a sight of a 
human foot print that he knew was not his 
own. What do you imagine, boys, the object 
was that I then saw, and which filled me with 
such great amazement? Here it is.” And the 
Captain held up a long flint spear head that be- 
longed to the pre-historic age of the aborigines 
of America. “You know,” he added, “ my 
tastes as an antiquarian, and my great interest 
in everything that pertains to primitive man. 
It had not occurred to me that I would be 
liable to find anything of the kind up here 
among the clouds. I had not thought that 
the red man might have a love and apprecia- 
tion for the wonders and beauties of creation 
and the natural world as well as the white man, 
but from the little investigation I have made 
today, I have substantial proofs that the rude 
sons of the forest gathered in this vicinity in 
great numbers, and I have no doubt they have 
stood spell-bound and awe-struck on these 
rocky cliffs, and as they drank in the won- 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


77 


drous scene they had thoughts of the 
‘Great Spirit’ and the ‘Happy Hunting 
Grounds’ that were akin to the thoughts of 
God and Heaven which animated and stirred 
our breasts, when on last night we stood for the 
first time and looked upon the scene. Not 
expecting to come upon relics of the stone age, 
this spear head was like an apparition to me at 
first, but recovering from my astonishment, and 
finding that it. was a real object, I next began 
to look about me for further signs of primitive 
occupation. Near by me was a natural, clear, 
cold mountain spring of pure water. This, I 
reasoned, was one sign that the red man had 
camped in this vicinity ; for, of course, they 
would choose a place where water was pure and 
plentiful. Not far away were some fields which 
had been ploughed over the year before, and 
from which the crop had been gathered. Quickly 
passing off the distance between myself and 
these cleared spaces, and looking about, I saw 
unmistakable signs of the Indian in the form of 
small flakes and chips of various colored flint — 
yellow, white and black. Then I found a num- 
ber of arrow points (here he displayed them.) 
Some of them are of elegant finish and beautiful 
material. This one, you will observe, is of chal- 


78 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


cedony, and this of blood -red jasper. There, 
too, were fragments of broken pottery made of 
clay and soapstone. All these left no doubt in 
my mind that at one time the Indians were in 
the habit of frequenting this spot in large 
numbers. 

“I next resolved to ascertain if there were any 
burial places near. After careful search for 
about half an hour, on a small elevation I came 
upon several heaps of stones near to each 
other; these had evidently been placed therefor 
some special purpose, and as I could see no 
reason why a white man should put them there 
I concluded it must be the work of the earlier 
race, and that the design of these little mounds 
of stones was to make secure from the ravages of 
wild beasts the bodies of those whom they laid 
away to rest in their last long sleep. The place 
was a quiet and beautiful retreat, and as I sat 
there my fancy conjured up the scenes that 
must have transpired here perhaps hundreds of 
years ago. I imagined the sad procession 
wending its way through the arched boughs of 
the over-hanging trees, the dim aisles of the 
forests. The winds as they swept through the 
leaves and clinging vines (the iEolian harps of 
nature) made solemn accompaniment to the 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


79 • 


measured tread of the marching tribe. The 
body, perhaps, was borne on the shoulders of 
warriors who had been comrades in many a 
bloody fray. The bow and quiver of arrows, 
with the trusty spear, were wrapped together 
in the shroud. Behind the inanimate form 
filed the horse and dog, his companions in the 
hunt and chase, they were to be sacrificed at 
the new-made grave to accompany the Master 
to the ‘ Happy Hunting Grounds.’ When all th& 
preliminaries have been attended to they lower 
the ‘Brave’ into the bosom of mother earth* 
Then for a while they chant his praises, after 
which they throw 'into the open sepulchre a 
thin layer of earth, on which is piled the mound 
of stones. You know, boys, that sometimes I 
court the muse, so taking my note-book from 
my pocket, I wrote the inspirations of the 
moment in these words: 

INDIAN GRAVE AT C.ESAR’S HEAD. 

There 5 s a rude, rocky mound ’neath the evergreen trees 
Where the bright sunbeams never fall, 

And the form of a red man gone to decay 
Is waiting the Great Spirit’s call. 

They buried him not in sight of the sea, 

Or in sound of its sullen roar, 

But they laid him to rest in the grand old wood 
Away from the ocean’s shore. 

Where forest vines in beauty twine 
To fashion for him a shroud, 

And his requiem is the stirring peal 
From the passing thunder cloud. 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


• 80 

“ Having* now given free vent to the phantasm 
that had shaped itself in my brain, I returned 
to the hotel and procured a hoe and shovel 
with which I returned again to the mound of 
stones and weut, to work. The task of remov- 
ing the rocks was not a lengthy one, as they 
were of convenient size for handling. When I 
had removed them all, there was a cavity 
before me some three feet deep. As the soil 
\tfas of a loose, sandy character I found 
no difficulty in enlarging the space by the 
aid of the implements I was using. Throwing 
out about a foot of earth, I came to a dark 
strata, occupying a space that in length was 
equal to that of a good-sized man. Fragments 
of jawbones with teeth still adhering to them, 
and the darkened dust in which these were em- 
bedded were all the traces that were left of the 
human framework that once contained the soul 
and spirit. As one has poetically remarked, 

‘ The inhabitant of the House Beautiful.’ 
Around the edges were a number of arrow heads 
made of flint, and in different parts of the grave 
I found various objects of stone. Five of these 
being of interest, and two of them being of an 
unusual and extraordinary character. I will 
take them one by one, and give you my ideas 



PREHISTORIC OBJECTS FOUND BY THE 
YOUNG RELIC HUNTERS. 









* 




¥ 

















* 


*•< 






! 

* 



























' ! 






9 












» 












THE SILVER BULLET. 


81 


concerning them. The first is a stone axe, and 
as you will observe is nicely polished, with a 
groove running round one end. The purpose of 
this groove was to enable its owner to make a 
double twist about it with a green withe, then 
binding the two ends of the withe together 
with rawhide up to the head of the axe, 
it made a handle as firm and strong as was 
needed. Of course, this was a rude contrivance 
compared to the steel axes and tomahawks of 
modern times, and could not compare with them 
for utility, but they were the next best thing to 
them. And as the aborigines of this country 
were unacquainted with the use of iron, they no 
doubt considered themselves fortunate in be- 
ing the possessors of so convenient a weapon 
as a well-made stone axe. The second object 
was this large soapstone pipe. It is of the 
ordinary style of workmanship. I have seen 
many of a similiar pattern, and it is to be pre- 
sumed that its possessor, like so many of his 
race, was a victim of the nicotine habit. And 
like his white brother, he was wont to draw 
smoky consolation from the burning coal of the 
tobacco weed. This third object is, as you will 
observe, a round disc of stone. The material of 


82 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


which it is formed is green jasper. It is about 
five inches in diameter, beveled on the edges, 
and on either side is a concaved cavity. This 
has been highly polished and in the center is 
quite thin. Holding the object up to the light 
it will be seen to be almost transparent. I as- 
sure you, young men, I consider this to be a 
rare “find.” Among archeologists it is known 
as a discoidal stone, and it is said to have been 
used by the medicine man of a tribe to concoct 
his medicines and poisons in. There are many 
objects of this character of coarser material and 
ruder workmanship, but the number in this 
country made out of gem stone, elegantly 
finished and brought to so high a polish, so far 
as my knowledge goes, would not number 
twenty-five. I congratulate myself on being the 
fortunate possessor of it. Specimen number 
four, however, is the most rare and interesting 
of them all.” The Captain here exposed to view 
a curious looking object, beautifully finished, of 
a material like slate. The color was a sort of 
olive green. The form was like a cross. The 
upper end was shaped like a “ Bishop’s Mitre.” 
A hole had been bored in either end, and one 
side was as smooth as glass, on account, the 
Captain thought, of having been worn next the 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


83 


clothing. This was a “ Totem, ” the family 
“ Coat of Arms” of the tribe to which it belonged. 

Mr. DeRoque thought this would be as good 
an opportunity as any that might present for 
giving the boys some knowledge of the abori- 
gines of America. The finding of this peculiarly 
shaped “ totem ” formed in his mind an impor- 
tant link in the chain of evidence that makes up 
one of the theories of where the first inhabi- 
tants of this continent came from, so he ad- 
dressed them as follows : 

“The poet Longfellow in his famous poem 
called the ‘Songs of Hiawatha/ describing some 
of the habits and customs of the ‘ Ojibways,’ 
uses this language : 

“‘Each upon his doorpost 
Hung his ancestral totem.’ 

“ The custom of having a totem was not con- 
fined to one tribe, but was peculiar to all. These 
totems were of various shapes. Some were in the 
form of animals and birds, and some were 
shaped like fishes. To the student of ethnology 
the forms of these totems have a great interest, 
for to a certain extent they are aids in connect- 
ing tribe with tribe and nation with nation. 
For iustance, if among the Indians of Maine 


84 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


should be found a totem in the form 
of a rattlesnake, and another of the same 
form should be found among the Indians 
of Florida, would it not be natural to sup- 
pose that at some time the members of the two 
tribes or their ancestors had associated to- 
gether? And to carry the analogy still further, 
if the Japanese worshipped an idol under the 
form of Buddha, and there should be found on 
the Pacific Coast a tribe of Indians who had 
household idols of the same form as the typical 
Buddha, with evident traces of Japanese art and 
workmanship about them, would it be unrea- 
sonable to presume that at some time in the 
past that tribe was connected with Japan, or 
some of its inhabitants? Would it not be 
reasonable to conclude that these idols linked 
the Indian tribes in some way to Japan ? Take 
another case. Suppose the architecture and 
religious worship of certain countries in South 
America corresponded with that of ancient 
Egypt, would not the inference be the same that 
somewhere in the remote past the inhabitants 
of the Orient and the Occident had been in con- 
nection with each other, either by one having 
immigrated from the Old World to the New, or 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


85 


by inter-oceanic voyages the two countries were 
brought into communication? It is well to 
state before going further that there is a wide 
difference of opinion as to the origin of the first 
dwellers on the American Continent. Some au- 
thorities claim a more remote age for man on 
the Western than on the Eastern Hemisphere, 
while the evidence that the aborigines of differ- 
ent sections bear resemblances to other races is 
numberless. The resemblances of manners, cus- 
toms and religious worship are plentiful. But 
the field of conjecture along these lines is inex- 
austible. I shall only follow out one or two 
theories. Not because they are in my opinion 
the correct ones have 1 chosen these, but be- 
cause they are interesting. Now, in the first 
place, the aborigines of the Western Continent 
in both North and South America have one 
general trait — they are of the same color. 
This color may vary a shade or two at extreme 
points, but it is essentially the same everywhere. 
The different zones do not alter it. From the 
arctic to the antarctic circle they are the same 
in this respect. This was not &o with regard 
to the other races. The Black, the Yellow, the 
Brown, and the White had their local habita- 


86 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


tion. So in this respect it would seem that all 
Americans had a common origin, the more so 
that the Western Hemisphere does not seem to 
affect the complexion of the other races. We 
know that the White, the Yellow, and the Black 
have been under the same condition of locality 
as the Red for several centuries, and the pecu- 
liarity of their color remains unchanged. It is 
in some of the customs of the Indians that 
traces of the older civilizations can be seen, and 
from which the idea is drawn that at some 
time there must have been a community of in- 
terest between them. When Columbus and his 
contemporaries came to the Western World, 
they found on its eastern borders a race of 
savages. On the western coast of South Amer- 
ica and in Mexico there was a very much 
higher type of the same race. In Peru and 
Mexico the natives dwelt in good, substantial 
houses, and erected ‘Temples’ for the worship 
of the Sun, and their rites and ceremonies were 
similiar to those practiced in old Egyptian 
mysteries and among the fire worshippers. 
Many of the symbols were similar. There is a 
possibility that people in different parts of the 
world might have the same ideas and views of 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


87 


certain things without having had any knowl- 
edge of each other, but such views would hardly 
materialize in the form of buildings, carvings, 
etc. For instance, the Pyramid is a peculiarly 
P^gyptian type of architecture, but the Pyramid 
was to be found in Mexico before the advent of 
Cortez. And the worship of the Sun with all its 
gorgeous paraphernalia and ceremonies was 
observed in Peru before Pizaro, under the banner 
of Castile and Aragon, conquered the celebrated 
Incas. One theory as to how these customs, 
thinly strained as they were, compared to those 
practiced by the older civilizations of the East, 
is as follows : Throughout all time since history 
began to be written, there has come from many 
sources a certain indefinite hint, like an echo 
from the mountain tops, or the strain of some 
old-time, half-forgotten song, a tradition to the 
effect that at some time in the past there was a 
large, densely populated country, or island, 
lying between the two hemispheres in the space 
now occupied by the Atlantic Ocean. This 
fabled land in story and song has been called 
‘ The Lost Atlantis.’ If one will take pains to 
notice the. coast liue of eastern South America, 
and the western shores of Africa, he will 
find that the contour of each coast is very much 


88 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


alike, as if at some time one bad been con- 
nected with the other. The tradition of the 
Lost Atlantis is that by a mighty convulsion of 
nature this supposed vast area of land was 
submerged beneath the waves of old ocean, but 
before the submersion it afforded a path of 
communication by which the manners and cus- 
toms of the East made their way to the West. 
The means of communication being once lost, 
and the old faiths being thus separated from 
their original source, the light grew more 
and more faint until the dim ray of imi- 
tation found in the days of the early Spanish 
discoveries was all that remained. 

“One of the symbols of the South American 
Sun worshippers that was similar to that of 
the Egyptian, and for that matter of the 
Christian religion also, was the figure of the 
cross. It will be too much of a task to go into 
the details of why they use it, but the fact that 
they do is enough. And that brings us to the 
point where we started out in this line of con- 
versation, namely, what is the thought that 
lies back of this cross-shaped totem that I hold 
in my hand? Its symmetrical shape, and beau- 
tiful finish indicate that, the utmost care was 
taken to preserve the perfect shape. That it 


THE SILVER BULLET. . 


89 


was a ‘ totem’ shows that it represents some 
idea, and its being in this peculiar shape places 
that idea in a higher realm of thought than was 
usual for the savage mind to run. Had the 
form been that of a bird, or fish, or animal, it 
would have excited no unusual wonder in the 
mind. But the shape is of a cross, and it came 
from an Indian grave that was dug centuries 
before Columbus discovered America, and that 
grave on a mountain top ! In contemplating it, 
my mind went out in two directions to link this 

interesting relic with the past. First, I thought 

9 ■ 

of that claim which had been made with some 
show of authority, that in the early centuries of 
the Christian era some monks from the Old 
World, fired with a missionary spirit, crossed 
the Atlantic and made their way to Mexico, 
where they preached the religion of the Cross of 
Jesus Christ and gave the natives, to some ex- 
tent, the knowledge of the Chistian religion. 
From this source, through the medium of no- 
madic tribes, it spread from the tropics into the 
temperate zone, beyond the borders of Mexican 
civilization, towards the north. The wonder- 
ing sons of the forest had no written language 
or books to perpetuate the faith of the fathers, 
but by legend and tradition told around the 


90 


THE ST EVER BULLET. 


camp fires by warriors to their comrades, or 
crooned into the ear of childhood by the squaw 
mother, the old faith was kept live from 
generation to generation, yet each succeeding 
period of time making the light dimmer, as the 
echo of sound grows fainter and fainter in 
passing from mountain top to mountain top. 
And here let me remark, young men, that it 
was a happy day for the world when the sacred 
Scriptures were collected together and ar- 
ranged in proper form to be handed down to 
posterity. There will never be such a thing as 
dimming the pages of the Holy Bible, or hiding 
the truth of the Gospel. One of the marvels of 
all ages has been the way in which God has 
perpetuated in the Bible the story of the Cross. 
Is it not a pleasing theme to meditate upon, 
that perhaps the symbolism of this rude stone 
cross has led the faltering footsteps of some 
humble seeker of the truth among the primitive 
race to the happy hunting ground of his simple 
faith. The other source of thought to which I 
have alluded as connecting this relic with the 
past is through the lost Atlantis and by the 
way of South America. If there once was a 
country occupying the space where the Atlantic 
Ocean now lies, of course it would have afforded 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


91 


an easy and convenient passageway by land 
from the east to the west. Missionaries of the 
Sun worshippers and other faiths could have 
made their way thither for the purpose of mak- 
ing converts and planting the standards of 
their religion, just as missionaries of the various 
denominations do in the same territory in these 
days. As the Sun worshippers of Peru were 
more like the same class in Egypt, it is natural 
to connect the two together and to reason that 
the one came from the other. Here are some of 
the points of resemblance: The mumified re- 
mains of Egypt have their counterpart in the 
mumified remains to be found in ancient Peru. 
They both were Sun worshippers, and both 
countries had symbols of the same character. 
A study of the ancient Egyptian mysteries 
brings *to light many strange and interesting 
facts. Among their symbols was the ‘cross,’ 
and to them it was an emblem of immortality. 
I have seen a copy of a picture painted on the 
walls of an Egyptian sepulchre more than four 
thousaud years ago. It represented a dead 
human body lying flat on its back, while over 
it a lion stood upright on its hinder feet. With 
one of its paws it held the hand of the dead 


92 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


man, in the other fore paw it held a cross. It 
was undoubtedly an astronomical figure, sym- 
bolizing the resurrection of the body, by the 
lion, through the power of the cross, to another 
and an immortal life. Compare this with what 
took place centuries later when the Founder of 
the Christian faith, “ the Lion of the tribe of 
Judah,’ died the death of the Cross, became the 
first fruits of the Resurrection and opened up 
the way of Life and Immortality to all who 
believe on his name. From Egypt to Peru, 
from Peru to Mexico, from Mexico to the remote 
regions of North America, the symbolism of the 
Cross made its way. And here in this ‘ totem ’ 
we have one material evidence of it. 

“If one should say that this totem was an 
accidental production, I am able to say to the 
doubter that a photographer in Greenville 
(Fitzgerald) has one smaller in size and of a 
rougher finish, but the same in design and 
shape, which goes to prove that the cross 
totem was in general use among a goodly 
number of Indian communities. 

“And now, comrades, as the hour is wear- 
ing late I will postpone comments on the other 
articles found in this grave until some future 
occasion. I have prolonged my remarks at this 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


93 


time because the hour and circumstances 
seemed to be fitting to give you a general talk 
on the position these relics of bygone ages 
occupy in aiding the historian to connect the 
Present with the Past. It is time for us to 
ring the curfew, but instead of covering up the 
fire we will ask Uncle Sol to replenish it, for this 
mountain air is cool to-night, and a good warm 
fire in front of the tent door will temper the 
wind.” 

Old Sol, who, during the snatches of conver- 
sation and comment, had been listening with 
eyes and ears agog, gave his usual gasp of 
relief as a vent to the tension of his strained at- 
tention, and said in a somewhat disappointed 
tone : 

“ Golly, Captain, I thought fer sure you was 
a gwine to fetch a poke ob gold out er dat ar in- 
jun grabe long er dat odder stuff, an hit looks 
to me you done los a mighty good chance. 
Wall, I fix up dis yer fire to keep yer warm an 
comfortable froo de night, dat one ting a nig- 
ger kin do better dan a white man, he kin jes 
beat im all holler makin’ fires. I reckon hits 
kase de nigger feels de need ob bein’ warm de 
mos’’ I wish ter gracious I had dat backlog 


94 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


wat I got fer Marse Calhoun way back in de 
Crismus days ob 1843.” 

“ How was that Sol?” asked Tom Carter. 

“ Hey, what dat you ask me ’bout, Tom? Oh, 
dat ar backlog,” and the Negro chuckled and 
shook as if he had a fit of the ague, as his mem- 
ory reverted back to the “ holidays ” of the old 
plantation life. “ Wall, if yer must know,” he 
said, “ I’ll tell yer how hit was. Yer see, Tom, 
hit was ’bout two weeks afore Crismus, in 1843. 
I belonged to Marse Calhoun on de ole Fort 
Hill plantation up on de Seneca ribber. I wus 
courtin’ a hansum yaller gal wat libed ’bout 
five mile away frum Marse Calhoun’s, an ob 
course bein’ dead down in lub wid her I wanted 
plenty time to pay distresses, git on de blin’ 
side of decritter, an clinch de bargin. I knowd 
dar would be plenty ob odder niggers a ramb- 
lin’ ’round ’bout dat time, an ef I wusn’t 
mighty peart an sharp I’d lose her right off. 
It’s curus how I done got stuck on dat gal. 
Seemed lik’ I lubbed her harder dan a mule kin 
kick, an bein’, as I wus, a widderer wid seberal 
childern, I knowed I’d got ter shuck tings 
mighty libel y ter win de race.” 

“ What were your children, Uncle?” said Nat 
Breed. 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


95 


“Wall, day were principally boys an gals,” 
said Sol. “ But you jes hoi’ up 1 honeys ’ till I gits 
froo wid my tale. As I worked in de house I 
wus shore I would be in deman, an would have 
ter do some dodgin’ in order ter git de privilege 
ob gittin’ away. Marse Calhoun do wus mighty 
kine an bligin to de niggers, ’specially at de 
holiday time er year, an he wonldn’t ’fuse any 
reasonable kine er ’quest. Cose de farm, de 
stock and de house had got ter be tuk care ob, 
an some er de niggers had got ter be dar all 
de time. My notion wus ter git in head er any 
one else in gittin’ de privileges havin’ Crismus 
ter myself. So as I sed, ’bout tree vteeks ’fore 
Crismus I cought Marse Calhoun in a good 
humor an axed ’im how long he could spar me 
wen de holidays come? ‘I can’t berry well spare 
you at all, Solomon,’ he said, ‘ kase you is so 
handy ter hab ’round ’bout dern times, but I 
reckon I’ll have to let you hab some time ter 
frolic in, bein’ as you’re a pretty good boy ter 
ten to yer work all be res’ ob de year.’ Den I ax 
’im ’bout how long. How many days he gwine 
ter tun me loose. He study few minutes, den he 
say, ‘ Well, Solomon, you haul me up a good 
big backlog an put hit on de fireplace an as 
long as dat back log burn jes so long you kin 


96 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


stay away fer de Crismus times.’ I ax im is dat 
de berry bes he kin do fer me, an wen he say yes, 
I kuovved I had got to de end er de rope. So off 
I goes an puts on my studying cap an fumbled 
’round in my membrance ter see how I could 
mak’ de mos’ out er de circumstances. Arter 
studyin’ fer awhile I done hit on a plan dat I 
thought would do. I gits my sharp ax 
an went out in ter de woods an hunted 
’round till I finds a big black gum tree 
’bout tree foot froo. I jes cut a back log 
out’n dat tree some four or five feet long, den I 
tuk a pair ob mules an drug dat log down ter 
de ribber an put ’im under de water, an lets ’im 
stay dar till de arternoon ’fore Crismus day. 
At night time er dat day I hauls -de log up ter 
de big house an plank im on de big fire place in 
Marse John’s room, den I tol’ Marster I’d got 
’im a backlog fixed good an corhf table. ’Berry 
well, Sol, ses he, go an hab a good time. Sorry 
I couldn’t let you off longer, but I mas’ send for 
you when de backlog is burned.’ I tole ’im I 
hope he wouldn’t send fer me before, kase I had 
ticklar busnes ter ten to. Den he say agin, 
dat I kin stay till de log all burn up. D< 1 
honey, I wus dead shore dat ar yaller gal 



y y 


“UNCLE SOL. 




























THE SILVER BULLET. 


97 


Miss Solermon. I knowed dat black gum an de 
wettin’ I gin hit wus wuth a good two weeks 
holiday fer ole Sol. So I put a snake’s head in a 
rag an tied it on a dogwood tree, an made de 
sign er an owl’s eye under hit wid my huger, 
ter make me wise in de bisnis I wus ’gaged in, 
den I baked a Adam an Eve goober ter a crisp 
an made a powder out’n it ter put on de gal an 
mak’ her lub me, den I tuk my rabbit foot long 
ter put on de udder chaps dat I knowed would 
be hangin’ ’bout ter cunjer em, an spile dere in- 
fluence, den you jes better blebe ole Sol wus in 
de highest kine er clover in his feelins. I had 
on one er dese yer high silk hats, an a blue 
peaked tail coat wif shiny buttons, wat Marse 
John done gib me, an I jes cut de shin’ off any 
nigger de.y wus in dem diggins. Miss Ouida, 
(dats de culled gal’s name wat I went to see) 
wen she got a look at me she jes cottoned to me 
like a fly to sorghum. Fer ’bout a week I 
stayed ’round de plantation whar she live at, 
eatin’ sassage meat, an fresh pork, possum and 
sweet taters, cracklin’ bread and big hominy, 
drinkin’ coffee and simmon beer, an cose dey 
wds a leetle.corn whiskey roun’ dar too, but dis 
nigger too sharp to take much er dat ar pizen. 
At night time Miss Ouida an me would court 


98 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


an ho V hans by de hour at a time. I done 
made hit up in my min’ dat de next night I’d 
pop de question, as you wite folks calls hit, so I 
wus a puttin’ in de bigges kine er talk toards 
dat end when big Sam, anoder one Marse Cal- 
houn’s niggers, come in an say: ‘Sol, Marse 
John done sont word feryou to make traks jes 
as fas as your big feet will let you trabble, so 
you better git out er here mighty libelv Eight 
den an dar I seed my cake wus all dough. An 
I’d done fool away de time till hit wus too late, 
but dar wus no hep fer it, so home I went, an 
’ported to Marse John. When I went into his 
room I see dat backlog aint half burn up yet. I 
reckon Marse John he see me looking sorter 
proachful at him an de log. At any rate he up 
an say, ‘ Sol, you rascal, what in de name of 
wonder did you do to dat log to make it non- 
comstable?” 

“Combustible, you mean,” corrected Tom. 

“ Wall, maybe dat’s wat he said ; anyway, hit 
wus one er dem big long words he used to use 
wen he wus in a serious state ob min’. I ax ’im 
howl could do any ting wid it wen I done been 
away fer a week, an aint had nuffin, ter do wif 
it. ‘ Well,’ sed he, ‘I aint neber seed suoh a piece 
er wood, seem like hit must be made outer iron 


THE SILVER BULLET 


99 


er some oder metal. I done burn ’bout fou rcord 
er oak wood, an another cord er litewood knots 
on top of it, an it aint make no more impression 
on hit than as if hit had ben a ston’. What 
sorter wood was it?’ I tole ’im hit wus black 
gum. ‘ It wus/ he snapped, looking savage-like. 
• Why didn’t you tell me that before you went 
off? You scamp! I might have known you’d 
play some nigger trick on me. I’ve a good mind 
to have you sent out and whipped soundly. 
I’ve wanted you a hundred times. I didn’t have 
any idea you’d be away more than forty-eight 
hours at the outside. Think of the time and 
wood I’ve used trying to burn up that old 
backlog!’ I tell you hones’, boys, ole Sol wus 
gettin’ mighty skeered up ’bout dat time. 
Marse John mus’ hab seed de fix I was in, kase 
ob a sudden he bust out in a big laugh an sed, 

‘ Wall, Sol, you beat me dis time sure nuff. I 
thought I could stand it out, but I’ll give in 
that you are an unusually sharp nigger, an 
perhaps if I’d ben in your place I would have 
done the same thing. At any rate, I’ve needed 
you badly, and as I sent for you before the 
backlog was burned I will have to make you 
some recompense for failing to keep my part of 
the compact, as well as for being so rash as to 


LOO 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


make such an agreement. So take this, boy, 
and look out and not play those tricks too 
often, or test my good nature too far.’ On dat 
he gib me five bright silver dollars, an dat’s de 
price I got fer givin’ up Ouida, de nigger gal, 
fer an odder buck done marry her soon atter 
dat. If old Marster had done stuck to de bar- 
gain I’d had anodder week, kase dat backlog 
wus good fer dat length er time shore.” 

On this the old man fixed the fire, and shortly 
after all in the camp were wrapped in sound 
slumbers. 


CHAPTER VII. 


bick Griswold’s adventure. 

When morning broke over the earth again, it 
was the beginning of a day as bright and beau- 
tiful as that which had preceded it. This par- 
ticular time of the 3’ear was conducive to sunny 
skies. Our party well knew of the fact, and so 
had taken advantage of it. As on the day be- 
fore, each member of the company prepared 
himself for a tramp, in search of what was cu- 
rious, wonderful and instructive. Having now- 
become somewhat familiar with the immediate 
surroundings of the camp, some of the boys 
preferred to start out alone, instead of in com- 
panies as before. The Captain did not object 
to that plan, as he knew all of them were level- 
headed, trusty fellows, and was sure they would 
use all the caution necessary to protect them- 
selves from accident, or to keep out of mischief. 
Admonishing them not to put themselves to 
too much exertion in traveling over the rough 
country, he bade them good morning, and each 
one began his. pilgrimage for the day. Did it 
ever occur to you, reader, that it is a good thing 
for a growing boy to get off by himself for 


102 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


ten good solid hours, and especially under cir- 
cumstances like those that surrounded our 
pilgrims? The thoughts and and meditation^ 
of such an experience are worth untold 
gold to the boy. In one sense of the 
word he is for the time being his 
own proprietor. About him is a perfect museum 
of wonders, and if he be on a mission like this 
before us, his ambition is fired to pluck from 
the bosom of old mother earth some trophy to 
lend interest to the camp fire symposium, in 
which he hopes the results of his explorations 
will take a prominent part. His keen, bright 
eyes, undimmed by time and care, see ten 
thousand things that he wants to know about; 
his fresh young mind, as sensitive to outward 
objects as a newly sensitized negative plate for 
producing photographs, receives impressions 
which, if taken at this age, are more lasting 
than if taken at any other. He wishes to know 
the reason for everything, and begins to form 
his habits of patient investigation, in which he 
should be encouraged instead of discouraged, as 
is so often the case. “ Wise and prudent, art 
thou, O mother, if, when thy boy comes to thee 
vvith a stone or a flower, or any of the common 
or interesting objects of nature, and questions 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


103 


thee concerning them, if thou greet his inquiry 
with a smile and a kiss, and an encouraging word 
of approbation, for if he find denial at thy 
hands, he turns to other sources, and if that be 
the case, then will thy heart be rent and torn, 
for thine influence hath departed to be replaced 
in the bosom of thy child by that of another, 
who, not having thy great love, will lead him 
perchance into error and away from virtue. 
Many a great thought or idea has been crushed 
and blotted out by the ruthless tongue of a 
mother’s impatient sarcasm and scorn, and 
many a brilliant star of genius has blazed out on 
the sky of human society because of a mother’s 
patient, loving smile and kindly word of en- 
couragement. 

Our pilgrims were like all other r young 
men of their ages, as they rambled amid 
the grand old woods, and looked on tree, and 
fern, and flower, many of which they had never 
seen before. Their minds were filled with lofty 
thoughts and higher conceptions of the great 
Creator, and they were conscious of a growth 
of spiritual and intellectual power because of 
their communion with nature and nature’s God. 
All day long they revelled in the wonders about 
them, and when the twilight shadows began 


104 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


to gather they were surprised at the rapid flight 
of time. One by one they came into camp, and 
when the evening meal was pronounced ready 
they were ready for it. Suddenly it was ob- 
served that one of their number was absent. 
Dick Griswold was missing; no one had seen 
him since his departure in the early morning. 
No uneasiness was felt, however, because they 
all reasoned, “ Dick has strayed off further than 
he intended and is only a little late in coming 
into camp,” so the evening meal went on as us- 
ual. The substantial, wholesome food was spiced 
with merry laugh and jest. The camp fire was 
lighted for the night, the boys had their treas- 
ures of specimens all ready to exhibit, the Cap- 
tain was ready to preside over the symposium, 
but no one felt inclined to begin the delibera- 
tions. There was a suspense, a feeling in the 
air of some foreboding evil. Though momen- 
tarily expected one of their number was absent, 
and they knew not the cause. At last the Cap- 
tain broke the silence by saying : 

“ Boys, I suppose it is foolish in me, but I can- 
not help feeling uneasy about Dick. It may be 
that some accident has befallen him, and I 
blame myself, not a little, for not insisting on 
our going out in companies of two. I did not 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


105 


think of the possibility of a mishap of any kind. 
It may be that he is all right, but 1 am uneasy, 
so we will postpone our camp-fire talk for to- 
night. I propose that Uncle Sol build up a 
huge fire and that we all start out from it in 
different directions, but be careful not to go out 
of sight of the fire for we want no more of our 
company wandering through these dense w^oods 
in the darkness. Let each one take his gun with 
him and when he has gone as far as prudence and 
good judgment will dictate, let him fire off his 
gun and shout aloud with all his might. If 
Dick be anywhere in hearing distance he will 
be sure to respond. This will be the best, and 
only, thing we can do under the circumstances . ” 
This plan was carried out. In the space of 
twenty minutes the dwellers in the valley below, 
or on the side of the mountain, must have been 
filled with wonder and amazement at the unus- 
ual and mighty shouting and the rapid volley 
of musketry that filled the clear atmosphere. 
This was kept up at intervals for an hour, but 
no responsive answer to their earnest calls was 
made. Then the saddened and discouraged 
company assembled about the camp fire to con- 
sult again. 


106 


THE SILVER BULLET 


“ What shall be done?” was asked. 

Old Sol now insisted on being heard. “ Mars- 
ters, be contented, you all’s losen yo’ senses. 
Dick’s all right. Dis nigger put ’im agin any ob 
you uns for lookin’ arter hisself. My ’pinion is 
de boy done got fudder off dan de rest ob you, 
an’ fust ting he knowed de night cotch ’im on de 
road ; he jest stop at some cabin an’ tell ’em 
he want to stop ober night wif ’em, an’ dey aint 
no pusson in dese mountains wat gwine to tell 
a ’spectable white boy like Dick dat he can’t 
stay. I tells yere dat Dick’s all right, he tun up 
in de mawnin’ safe an’ sound er I’m as white as 
any ob you uns. You all go off to bed. Old 
Sol stay up de biggest part ob de night, so ef he 
should happen to come de coffee pot will be a 
billin’ an’ de ham an’ aiggs will be a fryin’ 
quicker ’n a jiff.” 

And saying this the old Ethiopian began to 
prepare the couches for them to retire. Calm 
judgment told them that this advice was good 
and they followed it, though it was way in 
the small hours of night before most of them 
closed their eyes in slumber. This they did, at 
last, however, and once more the camp was 
still. In the meantime, where was Dick Gris- 
wold, the object of so much solicitude? 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


107 


Let us patiently unravel the eventful thread of 
the day’s experience and our desire will be re- 
warded. Like the rest of his comrades, Dick 
started out on the day’s tramp full of hope and 
anticipation for a profitable day among the hills. 
His course led him down the gently sloping side 
toward the North Carolina line. His mind was 
teeming with thoughts of the conversation of 
the night before, and of what Mr. DeRoque had 
told them concerning the Indian relics that had 
been found. In passing over several ploughed 
fields that lay in his way he found a number of 
arrow points of milky quartz, and at one place 
he found an object that he could not determine 
what it was. It was made of soapstone and its 
form was a rude imitation of an owl. It evi* 
dently had never been finished, for there were 
indications, from its peculiar formation, that it 
had been intended for a calumet, or pipe. The 
9 marks of the primitive workman’s tools were 
still to be seen upon it. This, thought Dick 
will be a good subject for the symposium. At 
another place he found a number of beads made 
of milky quartz, about the size of large, white 
beans and about the same general shape. They 
were so white that he thought at first they must 
be made of some kind of shell or of clay, but on 


108 


TEE SILVER BULLET. 


testing the material of which they were com- 
posed with his knife blade he found that the 
keen, highly tempered steel would make no im- 
pression on them, yet each one of the pebbles 
looked as if they might have been picked out of 
some mountain branch, and had a hole bored 
through them as fine as a cambric needle, and 
so perfect and straight were these holes that 
Dick wondered how they could have been made. 
No tool of steel of that size could have been 
made to do the work, at least none that he had 
ever heard of. A diamond drill might have 
done it, but at the time these beads were made 
such a thing as a diamond drill had never been 
thought of by the white man, let alone the In- 
dian. “Well,” thought Dick, “this is a mystery 
to me, but it’s more material for the camp fire 
talk. If I keep on this way today my ‘finds’ 
will be as full of interest as were the Captain’s 
last night.” 

There was one more object found by Dick 
which he did not know the use of. It was about 
the size and shape of a hen’s egg, with a slight 
indentation on the smaller end to make it stand 
upright. When he came upon it and noticed 
this peculiarity he thought of how Columbus 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


109 


solved the problem of making an egg stand on 
end. The object was formed of a piece of 
some kind of iron ore. He afterwards learned 
that its use among the Indians was for a target 
stone in their practice to become experts in 
shooting with bows and arrows. Of course 
the finding of these various objects took up a 
great deal of time, but so interested had the 
boy become in his occupation he had not no- 
ticed the flight of time, or how far he had come 
from camp, until of a sudden he became aware 
that twilight was deepening and night was com- 
ing on rapidly. 

“ Gracious !” he ejaculated, when he became 
conscious of the fact, “I had no idea it was 
getting so late. Where upon ea,rth am I any 
way? I must be seven or eight miles from 
camp to say the least, and it will be dark as 
midnight before I get a mile from this place, and 
how I am to find my way to camp in the dark- 
ness is more than I can tell.” “ Well/’ he con- 
tinued to soliloquize, “ I don’t suppose it would 
kill me to spend the night in the woods; in 
fact, I would like to try it once to see how it 
would seem. But how about the Captain and 
the boys? They will be alarmed about me and 
imagine all sorts of accidents befallen me, and 


110 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


like as not they will be hunting all night for me. 
I wish, on their account, they knew I was all 
right, save being a little too hungry to suit my 
notions about solid comfort, but then they do 
not know anything about how it is with me 
and it is m3 7 duty to relieve their suspense as 
soon as possible, so I must make an effort to 
reach camp.” 

Off he started. Ever and anon he could catch 
a glimpse of the stars through the thick foliage 
of the trees, and taking his cue from the north 
star he kept his face in the direction Of where he 
knew Caesar’s Head must be. Slowly over the 
fallen trees and boulders of stone, up and down 
hillsides and through deep ravines, sometimes 
finding a trail and following it awhile, then 
losing it again, he made his way onward. At 
last he found a trail worn by travel somewhat 
more than common, and he knew by the trick- 
ling sound of water that fell on his ear that 
there must be a mountain branch near. The 
trail led him into a sheltered cove between high 
bluffs. More and more dense grew the thickets 
of laurel and tangled underbrush. Dick could 
hardly tell whether he was on a trail made by 
human feet or on a trail made by wild animals 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


Ill 


who roam through the forests. The thought 
of the latter caused him some uneasiness and 
made him proceed with extrasilence and caution. 

“ What if I should meet up with a wildcat?” 
he muttered to himself, “ Wouldn’t this be a 
nice place for a scuffle with one of these tor- 
ments. I expect in about three minutes I would 
be like the man who jumped into a bramble 
bush and scratched out both his eyes, because if 
the wildcat didn’t scratch them out the briars 
would.” 

Narrower grew the space between the bluffs 
until at last the}" came together iu a deep 
ravine that ran up the mountain side and down 
which the mouutain branch referred to came 
plunging and babbling. To Dick’s surprise the 
trail led up on the steep hillside, but as it was still 
in the direction he wished to go he resolved to 
follow it up. Perhaps he had gone a hundred 
feet when to his great astonishment the path 
terminated at an opening in a cliff of rock that 
now rose before him . His first thought was that 
he was before a bear’s den, or the lair of some 
other wild beast, but a second glance convinced 
him that he was mistaken in that idea. Human 
hands had been at work here, for there were 


112 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


evidences too plain to be mistaken. Ad vancing a 
few steps into the dark recesses of the cavern he 
thought he heard voices and a hope sprang 
within him that at last he had come upon some 
one who could tell him just where he was and 
give him directions as to the nearest route to 
his comrades. Feeling his way along in the 
darkness for some twenty-five feet he now 
turned an abrupt corner and as he did so a 
sight so strange and weird met his view that 
it filled him with wonder. Before him w r as an 
apartment of irregular shape, but that would 
average perhaps forty feet square. Four men 
were present in it. Several large tanks were 
arranged along one side, while on the other 
side over a fire was a huge copper retort con- 
nected with another tank out of whose lower 
part ran a clear, white stream about the size of 
a pipe stem into a barrel that had been placed 
to receive it. As Dick’s eyes took in these va- 
rious objects, his nostrils were greeted with a 
peculiar odor, associated with all the really bad 
in his life’s observations lie had ever known. 
It flashed upon him in an instant that he was 
in one of those illegal, lawless dens known as 
illicit distilleries. The men before him were 
“moonshiners” and they were engaged in the 


TEE SILVER BULLET. 


113 


manufacture of corn whiskey. To say that 
Dick was scared would be putting it mild. He 
knew that this class of men were determined, 
bold and often unscrupulous in their ideas on 
this peculiar subject ; he knew that they would 
regard him as an intruder and perhaps take 
him for one of those hated informers or spies 
whom they would just as soon shoot down as 
they would a rattlesnake who had crossed their 
path. Unwittingly he had run into a den of 
outlaws. How could he get out of the trap he 
had sprung on himself? It seemed as if the 
hand of fate had led him through the night to a 
certain and sure destruction. Suppose he should 
undertake to retreat, the slightest noise would 
bring the fierce quartet upon him and his very 
retreat would confirm the impression they were 
sure to form that he was an informer. 

“No,” reasoned Dick; “that plan would 
never do. I am innocent of trying to meddle in 
any way with their affairs and my best course 
is to face the music and trust to the God of the 
innocent to bring me out of the trouble.” 

The moonshiners were evidently industrious 
men at their vocation. They moved about in the 
cavern as persons long used to the work of 
distilling, at which they seemed to be proficient. 


114 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


The leading spirit among them was a man some 
forty-five years of age ; his stern, browned, 
weather-beaten face showed lines of firmness 
and determination ; his eyes were keen and 
piercing, and the muscle and brawn of his arms 
and hands showed that he would be a danger- 
ous man to trifle with. The rest of the gang 
addressed him as Israel. He gave his orders in 
a quick, sharp tone of voice and as one who 
was accustomed to, and expected to, be obeyed. 
Our young hero, seeing that he was not observed, 
concluded that he might as well learn all he could 
before the crisis came. 

“Here, you, Bill Snow,” old Israel com- 
manded, “ go to that further tank and see how 
that mash is getting on.” 

Bill started on the errand and on reaching 
the tank mounted a step and looked down into 
it. As he did so he gave a prolonged whistle, 
and cried out : 

“ See, Israel, there are about twenty-five 
drowned rats in this tank. It ’s mighty queer 
how the varments do love the stuff,” saying 
which he held one of the rodents up by the tail, 
a monster in size and swollen to several times 
its natural bulk by the fermenting, sour mash 
into which it had fallen. One by one Bill 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


115 


plucked the bloated, sodden, filthy looking 
corpses out of their liquid grave, and when he 
had placed them side by side on a plank there 
were at least four gallons of corn whiskey, or 
its equivalent, absorbed^ with them. 

What think you, 0 reader, that the moon- 
shiner Bill did with those drowned rats ? And 
if there should chance to be one who reads this 
story, who indulges in the use of corn juice, or 
mountain dew, as it is poetically called by 
some, what think you tharb Bill did with them? 
Do you imagine that he took them without the 
cavern and gave them decent burial? Not so. 
He knew that old Israel had strong scruples 
against losing so much liquor, so he did some- 
thing else. He took each individual rat firmly by 
the tail with the left hand, while he closed his 
right hand around the plump rodent and strip- 
ped the very last drop of liquor back into the 
vat again. This is a pretty bad dose for a 
toper to swallow, but many a one has done it 
just the same There was one thing that puz- 
zled Dick somewhat and that was how the 
smoke escaped from the cavern, but the moon- 
shiners had no doubt arranged some waj^ for 
its exit ; at any rate the smoke went somewhere. 
The work went on and it truly was a weird sight 


116 


THE SiLVEB BULLET. 


to the looker on. Strange fancies came into his 
mind. He .thought of that Scripture which 
saith: “Ye chose darkness rather than light be- 
cause your deeds were evil.” He thought of the 
leaden worm coiled up in the still and of how it 
resembled a serpent coiled up ready to spring 
and strike its deadly fangs into some unwary 
victim, of how it typified that Prince of Evil, 
who, in the Garden of Eden, in the form of a 
serpent, beguiled our first parents and caused 
them to fall from their high estate. He tried 
to imagine the tide of evil that would rise up to 
curse the earth as the result of the liquid dam- 
nation that these men were making, and he was 
shocked beyond expression, as there arose on 
the air like the sweet, tinkling, mellow notes of a 
flute, an air that one of the men was softly 
whistling to the tune of “Jesus the Water of 
Life Will Give.” What can be the thought, he 
mused, that is in that outlaw’s mind that leads 
him to break forth in such a strain as that ? 
Perhaps in a moment of reverie the ruffian has 
forgotten that he is a man and lives again as a 
child at his mother’s knee, or perhaps the rov- 
ing fancy of his mind has carried him to some 
log church and he hears, in imagination, the 


TRIE SILVER BULLET. 


117 


saints on earth singing the songs of Zion, and 
unconsciously the turbulent spirit within him 
has betrayed itself through the sweet melody of 
the familiar hymn to an expression of intense 
longing for a draught of that water of which if 
a man drink he shall never thirst again ; or, could 
it be, he wondered, that this man had been soused 
to the business all his life and so ignorant of the 
great world at large, that it seemed to him to 
be a perfectly legitimate and right thing to do ? 
It was a charitable view to take of it, and the 
whistling of that tune led Dick to adopt it. 

Backward and forward moved the busy dis- 
tillers and the lurid glare of the flames beneath 
the copper retort threw giant shadows, dark 
andominous, againstthe rocky wallsof thecave. 
Back into the deep shadows shrank the innocent 
intruder. There seemed all at once to be a lull 
in the operations. Fires and material had been 
so arranged that for a time the business ran it- 
self. Old Israel and his men sat down in com- 
fortable positions, drew out their pipes and be- 
gan to take matters easy, so to speak. Inci- 
dently one of them turned to Bill Snow and 
said : 

“ Bill, I seed that feller you bored a hole in 
last year upon Try on Mountain. Doggone if 


118 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


he didn’t git a close call ; he looks as yaller as a 
piece of chanyberry wood to this day.” 

Bill looked quite serious at this point and 
answered the bit of information by saying : 

“I reckon it was next door to death to him, 
an’ it aint my fault that he’s alive today. I 
hated ter do it, men, but I had no notion ter 
spend five er ten years in the Albany Peniten- 
tiary.” 

Old Israel, with a sly twinkle of his eye, sug- 
gested that he ’lowed Bill would make a “ mighty 
good race horse fer they say,” he continued, “that 
he run from that revenue like a streak o’ greased 
lightning. Why didn’t you stop, Bill, when he 
fired that ball o’ lead arter you ? * He might er 
sent the bullet into yer hide.” 

“ What’s one bullet to a barrel full?” mut- 
tered Bill. “ Didn’t I know thar was a hul swarm 
of officers jest out to one side? An’ that arter 
I’d a plunked one of ’em the rest of ’em would a 
filled me as full o’ lead as a pud din’ stone is o’ 
rocks. I tell ye men, that thar was one time 
when Bill Snow used a quality of jedgment that 
would a done credit to old King Solomon his- 
self, and they do say that he was the peartest 
hand at the jedgment business as was ever heard 
tell on.” 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


119 


Of course this snatch of conversation was an 
allusion to one of the many escapades which 
Bill had experienced at some time or other. 

At a word from Israel they all sprang to their 
work again. After watching them for a few mo- 
ments longer Dick made up his mind fully as 
to the course he would pursue to get out of the 
difficulty he had unwittingly run himself into. 
He resolved to boldly make his presence known 
and trust to Providence to bring him through. 
So stepping out into the light, he gave a loud 
“ ahem ” and paused to note its effect. Had he 
wished to cause a profound sensation he cer- 
tainly accomplished his purpose. Every moon- 
shiner in that cave gave a wild, startled look 
about him and old Israel fairly sprang into the 
the air in his excitement. They all recognized 
the unusual tone of voice and it was as if a 
bomb had exploded in their midst. The excite- 
ment was of but a second of time in duration, 
however. These desperate men had nerves of 
iron and wills of steel, while their movements 
were as rapid as the lightning’s flash, apparently. 

Quick as an echo follows the sound, Israel 
had snatched up a double-barreled shotgun 
loaded with buckshot. 

“ Death and furies !” he shouted, as he leveled 


120 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


his weapon. “Who are you? Hold up your 
hands, or doggone your hide I ? ll blow you into 
inch pieces./’ 

You may be certain that Dick’s hands went 
up, and they went up high too. 

“ Now then, give an account of yourself. How 
came you here? Why are you prowling about 
this place? What do you want, you white livered, 
flopeared hound, by spying into our business ? 
You had better never had been born than not 
tell a straight story.” 

Dick, who marveled at his own coolness under 
these trying circumstances, looked the enraged 
outlaws squarely in the face and without flinch- 
ing, replied: 

“I came in here by accident, for you may be 
sure I would not come into a place like this 
willingly, or of my own free will, did I know be- 
forehand where I was going. And I came from a 
party of campers who are located over by Caesar’s 
Head for a week or two. I rambled off too far 
from camp and night overtook me. In the 
darkness I got lost and by some unfortunate 
means I have strayed into this place, and I am 
sorry I did, for I had rather not know that 
such a place or such a business ever existed.” 

“ Be careful what you say, you imprudent 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


121 


cub,” snorted old Israel. “ You have got into the 
bag, but that is not saying how you will come 
out of it.” 

To which Dick retorted : “ Yes, I might 

have been a little more careful in my remark 
and told you I thought your business was all 
right, but had I done so, I would have lied. I 
have told you the truth about how I came to 
be here and about my sentiments in regard to 
your work here. If you see fit to harm me for 
telling the truth, so be it.” 

And the boy lowered his hands, Which he had 
held alift- up to this time, and folding his arms 
across his breast waited calmly the issue. Is- 
rael, who, all the while he had been talking, had 
the boy under aim, now lowered his gun. He 
was satisfied that the youth had no weapon in 
sight with which to do damage to his gang if he 
'was disposed to. And, too, the bold, fearless re- 
plies to his interrogatories had raised the strip- 
ling in the man’s estimation. Sober second 
thought convinced him that a spy would not 
have taken such means of introducing himself 
into the presence of men whom he knew would 
shoot him down at sight with as little qualms 
of conscience as if they were shooting down a 
dog who had crossed their path. He resolved 


122 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


to take no risk, however, and ordered the rest 
of the gang to search the intruder for evidences 
that might condemn him. This order was 
strictly complied with, and of course the result 
was in Dick’s favor. They could only report to 
the leader that a lot of rocks and such like 
trash could be found on him. 

“ What in the name of common sense are you 
toting that big sack of rocks about for?” he 
asked. 

Dick, who saw that the entire party had sof- 
tened towards him, and that they were eyeing 
the stone objects with somewhat of interest, 
ventured on an explanation of his expedi- 
tion. The boy had a bright mind and reten- 
tive memory. What Mr. DeRoque had said to 
the campers was clearly in his thoughts, and 
having a naturally pleasing address, he did his 
utmost to interest his listeners, and divert them 
from the idea that he was a spy. The un- 
lettered mountaineers gave rapt attention to 
the young orator. When he came to the point 
of finding the stone owl and the beads, one of 
them interrupted him with the remark that he 
knew that place very well, and that he had fre- 
quently noticed them stones, though he had 
not thought of saving them up, as he could not 


ZEE SILVER LVLLEZ. 


123 


•see any profit in them. Incidentally he gave 
Dick a valuable clue on one point, with reference 
as to how the Indians made the holes in the 
flint pebbles. 

“I recollect,” he remarked, “hearing my 
grandfather say that he once asked an Indian 
how his people managed to make those small 
holes in the harder rocks. The Indian, who 
was a Cherokee chief, told him that he had 
heard the old men of the tribe say that long 
ago the wise men of his race understood the art 
of melting stone into a liquid. When the ma- 
terial was in a heated and liquid form, they 
took small, slim sticks, that had been previously 
fashioned to the requisite size. They would dip 
them into the molten mass, then withdraw them 
again until they had cooled off. This process 
was kept up in much the same manner as our 
women make dipped tallow candles, until the 
mass was of the desired size, then the piece of 
wood was withdrawn, leaving a hole as smooth 
and even as if it had been done with a drill.” 

This theory or fact, when afterwards explained 
to Mr. DeRoque, was decided to be a reasonable 
and plausible one, and was adopted as an 
archaeological fact, the opaqueness of the peb- 


124 


THE SILVER BULLET . 


bles and the peculiar shape at the ends all 
pointing to the fact of their having been once 
melted. 

When Dick had at last finished his story the 
moonshiners held a consultation, the result of 
which was, they decided that our hero had told 
the truth, but he was in possession of dan- 
gerous information concerning them. At first 
they could hardly decide what was best to be 
done with him. His frank, manly ways, and 
courageous defence of himself, had won their 
admiration. They wished him no harm, and 
neither did they intend that he should bring 
harm to them if they could help it. They finally 
decided to make him swear that he would not 
reveal the locality of the cave,* that if he should 
meet any of them afterwards he would not 
identify them as moonshiners of his own accord — 
that is, that he would not himself give away 
their identity -that he would suffer himself to 
be blinded and conducted by one of the gang 
to a place where he would be on his way to his 
own camp, to all of which Dick gave an assent. 

“Boy,” said old Israel, “we have decided 
that you came upon us from causes beyond 
your power to prevent, and that you had no 
design to interfere with us in any way. Be- 


I HE SILVER BULLET. 


125 


lieving this, we intend to treat you in an 
honorable manner, and we expect you will be 
as honorable towards us. My mates here are 
not as bad men as some people try to make 
them out to be. We attend to our own busi- 
ness, and do not trouble any one else unless 
they attempt to interfere with us. When it 
comes to that point we can take care of our- 
selves, and propose to do it. They call us out- 
laws, and put the brand of Cain upon us be- 
cause we stand up for our rights, and defend 
our homes and property. Look at those 
revenue bloodhounds ranging- over the moun- 
tains and hunting us down as if we were wild 
beasts. Doggone my skin, it makes me hot 
uuder the collar every time I think on ’em. You 
just heard Bill Snow a telliug how he let daylight 
through one on ’em, but you didn’t hear Bill 
tell the whole of the tale. He didn’t tell how 
a parcel of Uncle Sum’s pups came up to 
his cabin and surrounded it, and they was 
as full of whiskey as that tub is full of mash. 
As good luck would have it Bill was out about 
a quarter of a mile from home at the time, so 
they couldn’t find him, but they went into the 
cabiu aud insulted Bill’s wife, and searched the 


126 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


cabin through and through for Bill ; not finding 
him they drug the woman out doors, and be- 
cause she didn’t know whar Bill was, and 
couldn’t tell them, and wouldn’t a told if she 
could, one of the drunken, pizen varments struck 
her. Bill, who had heerd the noise, and sur- 
mised what was going on, had crept up nigh 
the house. He had his rifle with him, and when 
he seed the officer strike his wife, he riz up, 
drawed ahead on ’im, and sent an ounce of cold 
lead into him. One of the revenues caught 
sight of Bill when he stood up and sent a shot 
after him in return, but Bill being shifty with 
his feet got away from ’em. In course, in a few 
days, the papers had Bill down as an outlaw 
and murderer. The drunken revenue was a 
martyr. It seems like Satan hisself has got 
into folks sense the war, and has set ’em med- 
dlin’ with each other’s business. Why, my 
grandfather, who was in the Revolutionary 
var, made whiskey all his life. And my father, 
who was an 1812 soldier, and was also in the 
Mexican war, he made whiskey, and nobody 
undertook to question his right to do so. It 
has been an inherent right of the mountain- 
eers, from the first settlers down, to make 
kraut, wine, vinegar, and whiskey. And the 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


127 


people down the country, they puts up jellies, 
fruits, fish, and canned goods. Now to the 
people in the low countries the government 
says, ‘ You can put up your products of the 
soil in any way to suit you.’ But to us moun- 
taineers it says, ‘You ain’t got any nateral 
rights an’ you have got to do jest as we say, or 
we will jail you.’ They pretend to say that 
whiskey making is a great moral wrong and 
that they are doing the cause of morality, reli- 
gion and good government a service by regulat- 
ing it along the lines of the revenue system, 
and all the time they are giving the blackest 
kind of a lie to their false pretensions, by let- 
ting some men make all they want to, simply 
by paying a license for the privilege, and a duty 
on the whiskey made. Dog-omem, if the gov- 
ernment would say right out, flat-footed, that 
the hull business was wrong and nobody should 
make it or drink it, money or no money, license 
or no license, that the President of these yere 
United States who drinks it in the White House 
out of silver cups, and Bowman Black over ‘there 
who drinks the slops of the still out of a gourd, 
was both of ’em fools an’ criminals for so 
doing, an’ each one should be put in the peni- 
tentiary, and every man who made a drop, 


128 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


under any circumstances should share the same 
fate, I’d fetch out a whoopin’ ‘amen,’ and bust 
that air still full of boles in less than five min- 
utes and knock the fust man down that ever 
said whiskey to me arterwards. But you can’t 
make me believe it is~ wrong for me to make it 
and sell it and right for the government to do the 
same thing. If it is right for the government 
to handle it, I also have the right, because right 
is a coat that fits all men alike and don’t have 
no favorite about it either. I have had men 
say to me, ‘ Israel, the sentiments of others 
ought to have some influence with us in 
straightening out such questions.’ An’ I sez to 
’em, I believe in beginning at the foundation 
and making that right fust. Now, the govern- 
ment is the foundation of everything ; they must 
set the example, through the officers, to all the 
rest. Let ’em stop all kinds of meanness at 
Washington, then the rest of the country will 
fall into line. But they aint no use in the gov- 
ernment, or anyone else, robbin’ me of my in- 
herent right, and branding me as an outlaw. 
Then, because they can get a heap of money for 
if by giving a special class the same right and 
holding them up as moral citizens. Not much ! 
If there is any right in it, it is as much mine as 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


129 


anybody’s. If the government will quit giving 
these rights and quit having anything to do 
with it themselves, then I will quit and not be- 
fore. Them’s my sentiments and I’m ready to 
die for ’em.” 

And old Israel looked as if he meant every 
word of what he said. No doubt the old man’s 
ideas were essentially the same as those of 
nearly all the men who follow his business in 
this range of mountain country, and there are 
a multitude of them. 

That in the main these views are wrong, goes 
without saying. But with reference to his con- 
ception of right and wrong in connection with 
the manufacture and traffic in liquor, his idea 
was as sound as the eternal truth itself. The 
traffic in intoxicating liquors as a beverage of 
any kind, means the ruin of multitudes of 
human souls and the wreck of human happi- 
ness. And if there be any probability of Divine 
Justice, the promoters of that traffic will have 
to meet the issues of their awful crimes at the 
bar of Almighty God. A government stamp 
will not hide the enormity, or shield the guilty 
parties. 

Dick Griswold listened with deep interest to 
what old Israel had to say, and he was glad 


130 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


the old man had given free expression to his 
views, for they gave an insight to the motives 
that prompted these men to continue a busi- 
ness in defiance of law and public sentiment. 
Of course the sentiment that was against them 
was not the sentiment of the locality in which 
they lived. And being illiterate and unac- 
quainted with the outside world, they were de- 
ceived as to how their business was regarded by 
the mass of men. There can be no doubt that 
if these same men could be transferred to some 
locality where the drink habit was unpopular, 
where temperance in the conservative sense was 
preached and practiced, it would be but a few 
months before their eyes would be opened to 
the error of their lives. When once awakening 
came, we are satisfied that in most cases a 
radical change in views and practice would take 
place. So reasoned the boy as he took the moon- 
shiner by the hand, and his parting words 
were to this effect: “I have been raised to be- 
lieve that your business is all wrong, and nearly 
all the real suffering and distress I have ever 
witnessed has been caused by whiskey drinking. I 
still believe you a.re in the wrong in attempting 
to engage in it, but your words have caused me 
to have a more kindly feeling for men of your 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


131 


class, and to sincerely wish that you might see 
yourself in the light that the better class of 
men see you. I thank you for your kiudness to 
me. I shall never forget you. May all of good, 
and little of ill, attend you in all your ways.” 
With this salutation he suffered himself to 
be blindfolded by having a handkerchief tied 
over his eyes, and linking his arm in that of 
Bill Snow, the pair started off into the dim 
recesses of the forest. Old Israel, who followed 
them out of the cave, watched them until the 
outlines of their forms melted into the universal 
darkness, then, sitting down on a stone, buried 
his face in his hands, and kept this position for 
more than an- hour. That it was an hour of 
deep and solemn thought there can be no doubt, 
for at its close the stern-visaged man rose with 
a sigh, and entered the cave again. Could the 
meditations of such a man at such a time be 
made known, what a revelation it would unfold 
to us. Perhaps a panorama of the past had 
come up before him, the fierce strife and turmoil 
of years had been reviewed, then came thoughts 
of its contrast, a career that might have been 
full of peace and good will. He was not unac- 
quainted with the fact that there was such a 
thing as a life of moral rectitude and religious 


132 


THE STIVER BULLET 


faith, a Divine Government with the Holy Bible 
as the statute book thereof containing the law 
of human action. He was dissatisfied with the 
laws of the human government under which he 
held citizenship. How about the Divine Gov- 
ernment which he knew to be just right? Was 
he any more in sympathy with that? He had 
his conception of the Divine Lawgiver; was that 
sigh that came from within him one of vain 
regret ? 

0, reader, we all have our visions of the 
night ; and it may be that out of the mystical 
haze of past memories, out of the phantas- 
magoria that swarms the air about us, when 
our eyes are closed, and the darkness of night 
shuts us in, there came to this man a vision of 
surpassing loveliness, a face that comes to us all 
at times; we cannot tell how or why, but it 
comes. It is sorrowful when we are sorrowful, 
it is glad when we are glad, it comforts us and 
helps us. It is conjured up by scenes such as 
when the hardened old man comes in contact 
with the pure, innocent boy, and feels a power 
that he cannot define or fathom. And the 
sweet face of the mental vision that appears is 
like unto that which came in the saucer to the 
sad-hearted mother we spoke of in the begin- 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


133 


ning of these chronicles. Let us hope, as we bid 
farewell to the old mountaineer, that the vision 
of that hour will linger with him, and as the star 
of old led the wise men and the shepherds to the 
Redeemer, so the ray of light and truth, shin- 
ing from Dick’s manliness and fidelity to right, 
may lead him to right actions. 

Let us now return to the blindfolded boy, 
who, under the guidance of Bill Snow, is making 
his way back to his friends. After going 
some quarter of a mile from the cave, Bill 
carried him around a circle of about one hundred 
feet several times, then turned him about and 
went over the same circle as many times the 
other w 7 ay. The shrewd mountaineer had a 
fancy that a boy, who had proved himself to be 
as sharp as this one had, would be more than 
likely to try to keep the general direction they 
w T ere traveling in his mind, and his object in 
taking him about these circles was to bewilder 
him, and thus defeat any design of that kind if 
he should chance to form it. He had judged 
the boy better than he was aw^are of, for Dick 
had actually formed such a plan, not that he 
meant to take advantage of it in any way, but 
it came into his mind, as such things will some- 
times, and without any special object in view he 


L34 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


was carrying it out, when he suddenly became 
aware that his companion was taking him 
round a circle from the fact of his being borne so 
sharply toward the right. But had not awak- 
ened to a realization of it in time to form any 
correct idea of the length of the circle. So he 
quietly resigned himself to his fate. Neverthe- 
less he said to his guide: “Bill, you are taking 
me round a circle, are you not?” To which the 
guide replied : “Yes, youngster, an’ I gin you 
credit for being unusually smart to diskiver it, 
but I don’t have any intention of your ever 
finding your way to the cave again. When I 
turns you loose .you might as well look for a 
needle in a stack of corn shucks as to find our 
retreat. Blamed if I see how you found it in the 
first place,” he continued, “but in course it was 
all done by accident. Yer blundered »on the 
trail in the darkness, and followed it more by 
the sense of yer feet than by any sense yer had 
in yer head. Why, boy, the revenue officers has 
hunted and hunted fer that place, and has 
never found it yet. Wonder how on top o’ the 
earth you got inside without being diski vered. 
It must a bin a special Providence guided ye. 
You can thank your lucky stars ye got out of 
it as well as ye have. I don’t know what come 


THE SILVER BULLET 135 

over old Israel tonight that he didn’t shoot 
you down in yer tracks, but I expect it was on 
account of you bein’ a boy; if you had a bin a 
man the varmints would a bin eatin’ yer carkis 
by this time. The old man’s a terror when his 
dander’s riz. But if ye use him squar, he’s white, 
every inch on him. He’ll stand by them as is 
true to him, as I myself well know. Take me 
for instance, I don’t go down inter the settle- 
ment, an’ when I goes off the mountain to see 
my family, I has to go in the night, all on 
account of that difficulty I got into with the 
revenue officers. Israel has given me employ- 
ment ever sence, an’ he has seen that my family 
wants for nothin’, and as soon as things come 
’round right, he says that he will see that I go 
out west or to Texas, where I can start in anew. 
An’ I tells yer, boy, it wont be in this yere 
bisness, either. If I once get out of it I shall 
keep out. But all the same old Israel is a wffiite 
man for seein’ me through.” 

Thus, with scraps of moonshine adventures 
and bits of quaint mountain philosophy inter- 
mixed, the nocturnal tramp was beguiled. As 
may be surmised, Dick was now 7 a little weary. 
The all-day tramp, the excitement of the cave, 
and the, to him, aimless wandering in the 


136 


THE SILVER BULLET . 


wilderness with a strange guide, was depressing 
in the extreme. Only the hope that in an hour 
or two he would find friends and rest kept him 
from falling to the ground completely 
exhausted. But at last they came to a 
halt. “ We have reached the place where I shall 
take leave of you, my boy,” said Bill, “I simply 
axes ye now to stay whar ye are with the blind- 
fold on till ye hear me give the hoot of a screech 
owl, then ye may take off the bandage. 
Before you is the road to Caesar’s Head 
hotel, turn to the right, and ye will soon be 
thar among yer friends. “ Good bye, Bill,” said 
Dick, I sincerely trust that the day will soon 
come when, with your family, you will find some 
peaceful spot where you can spend your days iu 
happiness and plenty.” They shook hands and 
parted. In a few minutes the hoot of the owl 
was heard. Our hero tore the bandage from his 
eyes, and found himself in just the opposite 
direction from camp from that he supposed he 
was, but he stepped nimbly into the big road, 
and a walk of a few minutes brought to his 
view the white walls of the hotel. Beyond was 
the white tent and camp fire of his comrades. 
How cheerful and welcome they seemed to the 
wanderer. The first faint streaks of dawn were 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


137 


lighting up the western sky as he softly walked 
toward the fire. Old Sol had arisen a few 
moments before, and was making preparations 
for breakfast. He was talking to himself in 
lugubrious tones, “I wonders how dat pore 
boy am,” he soliquized, “pears like dey aint no 
more good feelin’ left in none of us. An’ de 
wust pint on’t is, we is way out here in de 
wilderness whar we do’n’ know what to do and 
whar to look. If I could only set dese yere old 
eyes on ’em, I b’lieve I would be de happiest 
nigger dey is in old Carliny. Pd des cook ’im 
up one o’ dem ole Calhoun brekfusses, dat ’s 
what I’d do. But den wat ’s de use er talking. 
He aint yere, an’ likes not he is down in some 
hole wif his head er leg broke all to smash. I 
doan see what de Cap'n let dem boys go off 
alone fer anyway. But den I aint gwine say so 
ter him kase he feel bad ’nough about hit. Oh, 
Dick, Dick! If yer oulv knowed how bad dis 
yere ole nigger wanted ter see ye ! ” 

Just then Sol happened to turn around and 
was standing face to face with the subject of his 
cogitations. A look of astonishment and super- 
stitious awe, a gasp of frightened emotion, then 
he undertook to express himself. 

“ Wha-wha — is dat you Marser Dick?” he stain- 


138 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


mered as though half in doubt as to whether 
his eyes had deceived him or not. And then he 
shouted in ecstacy as he rushed pell-mell upon 
him. 

“ Glory to God ! Hallelujah to de Lam P De 
los’ am found.” 

Here he threw his arms about the boy and 
blubbered like a big black baby. 

0, sable sons of Africa, deep is the mystery 
that surrounds thy race, and none but the eter- 
nal thought can fathom it. Thou hast thy 
weaknesses and thy faults, but among thy vir- 
tues is a warm affection and a loyal devotion. 
It had taken but a few days for the old Negro 
to become wholly bound up in the fortunes and 
welfare of the little company with whom he was 
associated in an humble capacity. The boy had 
become as dear to him as anything earthly 
could be. All night long he had mourned and 
grieved over Dick’s absence, which he attributed 
to some direful accident, and, though out- 
wardly he had kept up a light and brave spirit, 
in his secret heart he had felt that the lost boy 
was no more. Now that he was here safe and 
sound, the emotional soul gave free vent to his 
feelings. The uproar awakened the camp and 
caused a rapid tumbling out of bed and jump- 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


139 


ing into clothes. In as quick time as it has 
taken to relate it, the tents were emptied, and 
a joyful company was around Dick, shaking 
his hands, congratulating him on his safe re- 
turn, and plying him with questions as to his 
strange absence. To all of which the reply was 
given that he had lost his way, but had 
fallen into safe hands, and when he had rested 
and refreshed himself he would tell them more 
about it. This latter suggestion brought the 
cook to his senses. “ Golly, ” he exclaimed, “I 
reckon de pore boy aint had nuffln t’ eat fer de 
las’ twenty-four hours, an here I is actin’ de 
baby an he jes ’bout perishin’ fer suffin t’ eat. 
Out de way here you boys, giv’ me room 
’cordin’ to my strength an’ let me spread my- 
self. We aint got de fatted caf to make merry 
wif, but I’se got de fatted chicken, an’ sebera.1 
oder contraptions to go wif it an’ if he’s got de 
appetite he ought ter hab he’ll be enjoying his- 
self shortly.” 

True to his promise, in a very short space of 
time an appetizing and much appreciated 
breakfast was prepared and disposed of. Then 
Dick, who was really in need of rest, crept into 
his couch in the tent and in the sweet oblivion of 


140 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


sleep lost all sense of his surroundings. Here 
let us leave him for awhile. 

Pleasant Valley Castle. 

Though it was broad daylight and breakfast 
had been partaken of it, was some hours before 
the usual life was manifested in the camp. Some 
had laid down to get a nap of sleep to even up 
with that of the night before, others were quietly 
-spending the time in various ways. But about 
eleven o’clock they collected together and ar- 
ranged for another tramp. This time the Cap- 
tain insisted on the three boys who were ready 
for duty accompaning him. “ We must have no 
more lost boys,” he said. “ Hereafter we must 
go out two by two, at least.” Having made 
ready they plunged into the mountain fast- 
nesses again. They had gone down the moun- 
tain side four or five miles when they found 
themselves in the midst of a forest of giant oak 
trees. These oaks were numerous and of enor- 
mous size; in fact, it was a bit of the real old 
primeval woods. 

The Captain remarked that “if these trees 
were nearer the settlements they would prove 
to be an independent fortune to their owner, 
but it w r ould cost as much as the stocks were 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


141 


worth to convey them to market. I wonder 
though,” he added, “ that I have never heard of 
this particular grove of trees. They are of such 
great size as to make them real objects of na- 
tural curiosity. And then the grove is so ex- 
tensive too ; we have been travelling through 
them now for three quarters of a mile.” 

Hardly had he spoken these words when one 
of the boys stated that he thought there was an 
opening in the trees a little distance ahead, and 
sure enough they shortly emerged from the 
grove and saw before them an open space of 
cleared land containing some twenty-five acres. 
At one corner of this little valley, for such it 
was, shut in by mountains on all sides, was a 
large, two-and-a-half-story, flat-roofed house, 
with a portico in front supported by large pil- 
lars. The house was of a style much in vogue 
one hundred years ago, counterparts of which 
can be seen in the older coast cities to this day. 
It was painted white and with its background 
of green trees and foliage presented a very 
pretty and inviting appearance. Our travellers 
were just weary enough to desire to stop and 
rest. There was a wall about the house en- 
closing it and access was gained through a mas- 
sive gate. From each side of the gate extending 


142 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


upward was a high post supporting a wooden 
arch, and on the arch was inscribed this legend, 
“Pleasant Valley Castle — Welcome.” These 
hospitable words were a cheerful sight to our 
campers and they resolved to accept the kindly 
invitation and test the proffered hospitality. 
They passed through the wide gateway and up 
to the door of the portal. On the door, in the 
form of a huge brass eagle, was a heavy knocker. 
“Knock and it shall be opened unto you,” 
quoted Torn Carter, as he seized the appendage 
and caused the echoes to resound through the 
house by the din he made. Then they waited 
patiently an answer to the summons. After a 
time light steps were heard within, the door 
was thrown open, and what think you they saw ? 
Before them stood three females. Two of them 
were old ladies with hair as white as the driven 
snow, but with faces as fair and free from care 
as that of a child. The third was a young 
maiden of not more than sixteen years. The 
peculiarity of these three persons and of the 
house they lived in was that they all seemed so 
different from their surroundings. This thought 
impressed each one of the intruding party at 
first glance, and they were so much embarrassed 


THE SILVER BULLET 


143 


by it they hesitated about going any farther in 
that direction in their quest for food and rest. 
A second glance, however, reassured them, for 
if we may be allowed the expression, in the faces 
of the “three graces” before them was the 
kindly look of welcome and hospitality. And 
the look expressed itself in words, for the eldest 
advanced with outstretched hand to the Cap- 
tain and said : 

“To what circumstances are we indebted for 
bringing respectable strangers to our humble 
home.” 

The Captain explained the cause of their pres- 
ence and expressed the fear that he and his 
comrades had been too presumptious in intrud- 
ing. Whereupon, the kindly host bade them 
dismiss their fear and invited them to enter. 
This they did by running the gauntlet of the 
outstretched hands of the other two ladies, and 
entered a broad hallway some eighteen feet in 
width running through the main building. It 
made the boys stare as they looked about the 
apartment, for such it might be truly called. 
Its height ran to the roof. At the back end was 
a stairway leading to the balcony that stretched 
to either side of the hall and connected both wings 
of the upper story together. At the head of the 


144 


1EE SILVER LTJLLE1. 


stairway was a tall, old-fashioned clock with a 
silver dial, a gilded eagle surmounting it, which 
with the quaint carvings that ornamented the 
case, made it an object unique in construc- 
tion and beautiful to look upon. On one side 
of the hall was a broad, open fireplace, with a 
mantel of antique oak panels, ornamented with 
porcelain tiles, on which were illustrations of 
JEsop’s Fables. Around the walls were mounted 
heads of deer and bears, while opposite the large 
fireplace was a large cabinet containing an an- 
cient armor, around which were arranged in 
tasty form a collection of antique arms, such as 
Bellmuzzle guns, swords, spears and halberds. 
Above the dado work, and running nearly the 
entire length of the apartment, were rows of 
shelves on which were hundreds of books form- 
ing a valuable and extensive library. Under 
each window was a long, low, wide and cush- 
ioned sefctee on which one could sit or lie down 
as his ideas of comfort should dictate. Pictures 
hung at convenient places and little odd statu- 
ettes of Parian marble with other bric-a-brac 
stood on brackets or filled what would other- 
wise have been vacant niches. Another object 
of great interest was an old time spinet or vir- 
ginal, quite rare in these days, but they were 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


145 


the pianos of the seventeenth and eighteenth 
centuries. We have been thus explicit in the 
description of this room for two reasons. First, 
it will give the reader some conception before- 
hand of the inmates of “ Pleasant Valley Cas- 
tle,” as it was called. And second, because the 
room was a revelation to the boy guests who 
had been invited to cross its portals. It will 
be remembered that these boys were the sons of 
people who had always been in very moderate 
circumstances in life. They had become workers 
at a very early age. Their education, such as 
it was, had been obtained in intervals of several 
months duration at the village school founded 
for them through the liberality of the manufac- 
turing company by whom they were employed, 
and their knowledge of the world at large had 
been obtained almost exclusively through, the 
use of a public library, also furnished by their 
employers. Practical observation of the world 
they had none. The trip to Caesar’s Head was 
the longest tour they had ever made. Of course 
the Captain was an exception, he having trav- 
elled over all the States in the eastern section of 
our great country. 

Now, as we have said, the hall and its furnish- 
ings were taken in at a glance. They were 


/ 


146 THE SILVER BULLET. 

now invited into a small adjoining room where 
all the necessary appurtenances for laving hands 
and faces and otherwise refreshing themselves. 
Then returning to the hall they were requested 
to occupy the time as best they might until a 
repast was prepared for them. What the Brit- 
ish Museum, the Vatican at Rome, or the Louvre 
at Paris would be to a learned and cultivated 
traveller, this castle hall was to the boys. Mr. 
DeRoque, having found an old and elegant edi- 
tion of John Milton’s poems had nestled down 
on one of the cushioned settees near a window 
to enjoy it. Hardly had he assumed this atti- 
tude when a door opened and the youngest of 
the “ trio ” who had welcomed them, came for- 
ward. (We might as well perform our duty to 
this young lady first as last, for we fancy our 
young readers desire her acquaintance:) As she 
now stands in our presence she presents an in- 
teresting and beautiful picture. She has arrived 
at that guileless and innocent age of girlhood, 
just before the threshold of womanhood is 
crossed. Her eyes were of a clear, honest brown, 
her face oval in form, her hair luxuriant and of 
the color of her eyes, a clear, white complexion 
with a bright blush of the rose tinting it, mak- 
ing what we would call a radiant face. Her 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


147 


form was graceful in its outlines, and her whole 
physical make-up was indicative of solid curves 
and healthful nerves. A poet would say of her 
that she was a dream of loveliness, but we would 
have to admit that it was a most substantial 
dream. ^She met the battery of three pairs of 
eyes with unflinching innocence as she advanced 
and said in a sweet and modest voice, 

“ My name is Minette ; 'I have come to enter- 
tain you while my aunties are preparing din- 
ner, ’’ saying which she sank into a chair by the 
side of Jack Austin, and looking at that young 
gentleman in a way that set his heart to flutter- 
ing and brought blushes to the roots of his hair, 
she continued, 

“Shall I play for you on the spiuet, and sing 
for you some old-time ballad, such as our an- 
cestors sang when the spiuet was the favorite 
musical instrument ? or, shall I tell you the his- 
tory of some of the old heirlooms that you see 
about you? I presume, though, in this out-of- 
the-way-place that you will scarcely find any- 
thing of unusual interest?” 

This interrogation, of course, was put to Jack 
Austin. He was about to say “Great scot 
alive, what are you talking about?” for his 
eyes had been fairly bulging out with wonder at 


148 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


what he saw around him, when a glance of the 
brown eyes piercing into his own, transformed 
the somewhat slang expression into quite an- 
other sentence: 

“I think my comrades and myself would be 
very much interested in having you do both, 
Miss Minette, for I am sure you sing sweetly, 
and everything about this wonderful room will 
have a charm for us.” 

Minette sat down to the spinet and ran her 
fingers over the keys. We must admit that the 
sounds that flew from under her deft fingers had 
a sort of tin-pan twang at first, but as she con- 
tinued they grew more melodious and sweet, 
until the boy listeners, unaccustomed to the 
highest art in music, became convinced that she 
was master of the instrument, and that there was 
more in the person than there was in the spinet. 
Like the rippling and trickling of a mountain 
water brook the air filled the hall, and a soprano 
voice sweet, pure and of surpassing compass for 
one so young, gave utterance to the words of a 
song of the days of chivalry. A gallant knight 
went forth to do battle in the cause of suffering 
humanity. Animated by a desire to serve his God 
and to alleviate the woes of the oppressed, he 
was successful in his mission. Happy in the 


THE SILVER BULLET . 


149 


thought of good deeds done, and peaceful in 
his heart as the end of life comes, because he is 
assured in his faith of peace hereafter in the ap- 
proval of his God, he passes away amid the 
benedictions of those to whom he has been a 
benefactor. His memory lingers amid the 
scenes of his life like the casket that retains the 
odors of the perfume when the incense has been 
removed. This was the destiny of the good in 
all ages, for like his Divine Master he went about 
doing good. Such was the sentiment of the bal- 
lad that Minette sang. With the skill of a 
trained artist she rendered it with so much ex- 
pression and power that even the Captain 
paused in the perusal of Milton’s immortal 
songs to listen and marvel at the rare perform- 
ance, while the boys were thrilled through and 
through. They had caught the inspiration of a 
higher and nobler line of action in life, and 
strange to say, each one resolved that they 
would be more true to what was right and God- 
like than they had been. But what of her who 
had stirred such emotions within them ? Hav- 
ing finished the performance, she turned on the 
stool on which she sat and faced her awe-struck 
but appreciative audience, a tear drop glistened 


150 


THE SILVER BULLET 


on the long lashes of her brilliant eyes, but she 
smiled as she said : 

“Is it not a sweet old ballad? It always 
fills me with good and noble thoughts. My 
father taught it to me almost as soon as I was 
old enough to talk, and as he loves rb and loves 
to hear me sing it, it has been one of my favor- 
ites for many years.” 

“ I don’t believe I shall ever forget it,” said 
Jack Austin. “ Nor I,” “ nor I,” echoed his two 
companions. 

“Then I am glad I sang it to you,” replied 
the girl, for unsophisticated as she was she in- 
stinctively felt that a high and honest tribute 
had been paid to her gift of song. 

Minette now invited them to follow her about 
the room, and she soon proved that her powers 
of conversation were equal to her gifts of song. 
The collection of curios and relics were a multi- 
tude in number and their selection had evidently 
been the result of extended travel, and a refined 
and cultivated taste. As an'illustration of this 
fact, m a huge portfolio were some two thous- 
and sterescopic views and photographs represent- 
ing a tour around the globe. Minette’s father 
had gathered them when he took the journey. 
It was a matter of no little annoyance, now, to 


The silver bullet : 


I5i 


our young friends that the time was too brief 
to allow them to take the same trip, through 
the stereoscope, with the beautiful and interest- 
ing girl for a guide, but a day would not suffice 
to accomplish the task, so, with regret, they 
took but hurried glances over the collection. 
Scarce had the review of the objects begun when 
the ringing of a bell announced that dinner was 
ready to be served. They were ushered into a 
spacious dining room, where on a table with a 
snowy cover was laid a sumptuous repast, and 
to their surprise the viands were served in a 
solid silver service. The eldest lady asked the 
Captain to say “grace,” after which they did 
ample justice to the wholesome and elegant 
viands. The ladies then made known the fact 
that the premises were the property of their 
brother, the father of Minette (her mother was 
dead), and also that the brother was now an in- 
valid in one of the upper chambers of the house. 
They expressed, also, a desire that Mr. DeRoque, 
ere he left the house, should repair to the sick 
chamber and pay a visit to the invalid. Ac- 
cordingly, after dinner had been dispatched, the 
Captain, Jack Austin and Minette ascended to 
the second story of the house, leaving Nat Breed 
and Tom Carter with the elderly sisters. Min- 


152 


IIiE SILVER LXJLLE1. 


ette led the way into a large, pleasant, well- 
lighted chamber. Before a window that looked 
out on a view of mountain and valley, in an in- 
valid’s chair reclined a noble-looking man of 
some fifty years of age. He showed on his face 
the marks of recent severe sickness, and even 
now he was in extremely delicate health. He 
held out a wan, thin hand to bid them welcome. 
Jack being nearest first took the proffered 
han<J, then the Captain, but the Captain’s grasp 
was not soon relinquished, and Jack was aston- 
ished beyond measure to hear Mr. DeRoque say : 

“I perceive, sir, that I am holding the hand 
of a brother.” 

“ I am truly glad to know that, m} T dear sir 
and brother,” replied the sick man in a grate- 
ful tone of voice, “ much more so than, in my 
feeble state of mind and body, I can convey in 
words. But you are very welcome*, and a thous- 
and times more on account of the mystic tie 
that binds us to each other.” 

The two men then entered into a short con- 
versation, the subject matter of which is not 
necessary to this story, but it developed the 
fact, that though they had met as total 
strangers the “ mystic tie,” which has been 
alluded to, formed a bond of mutual interest. 


THE SIL VER BULLET 


153 


The confidence so soon established, the absence 
of all distrust, and the fraternal regard each 
seemed to have for the other, was a marvel that 
neither Jack nor Minette could fathom. If the 
boy or girl had had more experience in the 
world they would have learned that there are 
great fraternal organizations, the members of 
which are never strangers to each other. When 
Jack sometime afterward asked the Captain 
how it was he could recognize the sick man as 
an intimate friend without having previously 
met him, the Captain pulled aside the lapel of 
his coat and displayed a badge on which was a 
device in the form of a “square and compass,” 
enclosing a letter “ G,” and gave him this reply : 

“They who understand the meaning that lies 
back of these symbols have no trouble in recog- 
nizing each other anywhere on the face of the 
globe, for having once become acquainted with 
the mysteries of the art of these emblems they 
can never more be strangers.” 

As we have said, the conversation in the sick 
room was not prolonged to great length and 
the visitors soon departed, after receiving a 
very pressing invitation to # come again, when 
the proprietor hoped to be in a condition of 
health to entertain them personally, and with 


154 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


the assurance on the part of Mr. DeRoque that 
if he should ever chance that way again he 
would certainly extend the acquaintance so 
fraternally begun. The travellers were now 
ready to return to camp. The Captain, how- 
ever, found himself in a peculiar and delicate 
position. When he and his young associates 
had crossed the threshold of Pleasant Valley 
Castle, they had done so with much the same 
feeling as they would have had had they en- 
tered some wayside inn for the purpose of ob- 
taining rest and food. They had expected to be 
served, and had expected to pay for their enter- 
tainment. In other words, it had been to them a 
plain business transaction, and they so intended 
it, but on the moment of their departure it did 
not appear to them in the same light. Every 
minute since they had entered the door of this 
old-time mansion, they had been the recipients 
of the most generous hospitality. They came 
as strangers, unlooked for and unexpected, but 
they had been met and welcomed as old friends, 
and as members of the family would have been 
met and welcomed. The problem the Captain 
was now trying to solve was, “ Would it be an 
insult to offer them remuneration for the hospi- 
tality extended V 9 And would it not be the 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


155 


basest ingratitude not to do it? As he stood at 
the threshold, troubled and perplexed as to 
what to do about it, the eldest sister, who 
with the other two women had come to bid 
them farewell, now stepped forward and ex- 
tended her hand to him. Supposing this move- 
ment to be a parting salutation, the Captain re- 
turned the compliment and was astonished to 
have the old lady drop into his haud eight 
bright, new silver dollars. Great was his aston- 
ishment at this unexpected and unexplainable 
transaction. In his embarrassment he stam- 
mered out: 

“Wy-why, my dear madam, what does this 
mean?’’' 

The old lady smiled sweetly, as she gently 
said in return : 

“My friend, we want you to do us a great 
favor. I need not tell you that we, in this 
castle, live far remote from the usual line of 
travel, and that we see but very little of the 
world at large, except when we go out into it 
of our own accord. From our own choice, 
we prefer to live here in these beautiful 
and heathful mountains. Providence has 
blessed us with all that we need, both 
of money and store, and we have plenty of 


156 


THE SILVER BULLET \ 


both, and to spare. We are not unmindful of 
the fact that there are thousands whose condi- 
tion is just the opposite of our own, and many 
perhaps are dying for what we could give them, 
if we only had the opportunity. Now, as we 
cannot go to them with our bounty, from what 
we have seen of you and your party, we think 
we could safely trust you to do for us. So we 
want you to take each of you, two silver dollars, 
and whenever you see a needy person, as we 
have no doubt you will see many of them, we 
want you to assist them to this extent for us, and 
that, you see, will be just the same as if we had 
done the deed ourselves. Ah, sir, you cannot 
tell how happy you have made us by coming 
this way today. We are so much obliged to 
you for finding us out, and if you will only con- 
sent to our request, there will be nothing lacking 
to make our happiness complete. Please say that 
you will do it,” and the white-haired angel had 
an almost beseeching look on her saintly face 
as she presented her petition. Of course the 
Captain was “ struck all in a heap” by this turn 
of affairs. 

“My dear madam,” he cried, “you are under 
no obligations to us. It is we who are under 
obligations to you. Your request, strange as it 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


157 


is, we will cheerfully comply with. But what 
can we do now to repay you for your open- 
handed hospitality and kindly attention to us 
in entertaining us today? ” 

“ Nothing, nothing/’ was the hurried reply, 
“you are welcome to it all, and a hundred fold 
more had we been able to do it for you. Do 
for us as we have requested, and we are more 
than repaid/’ 

And so our campers left the Castle, wondering 
at the strange termination of their visit, and 
pondering over a phase of real human goodness 
such as they had never before heard or 
dreamed of. As they passed under the shade of 
the forest trees, and caught a last glimpse of 
the house, with the trio still standing on its 
antique portico, Mr. DeRoque remarked, “That 
castle makes me think of the ‘ Palace Beautiful/ 
in ‘Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress/ and those 
ladies remind me of the ‘Three Graces.’ I have 
always looked upon that particular fancy of 
Bunyan’s as beiug far fetched, but I can do so 
no longer. Boys, it has its real counterpart in 
the characters and the scenes we leave behind 
today.” 

By sunset all hands were in camp. Dick 
Griswold had recovered from his excessive 


158 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


fatigue of the night before, and the rest of the 
boys were enthusiastic over their trip to 
“ Pleasant Valley Castle,” aud no knight er rants 
of the Middle Ages could have felt a more loyal 
regard for his lady-love than did they for the 
pure mountain flower of womanhood with whom 
they had come in contact. They gathered 
about the camp fire after supper as usual, but 
as it was Saturday night, they did not under- 
take to attempt any line of study or set con- 
versation. The next day being the Sabbath 
they intended to observe it in camp in the 
spirit, and as near the same manner as they 
would have observed it had they been at home. 
So the closing hours of the week were spent in 
attending to such matters as needed their at- 
tention, and would come under the head of 
secular work. Uncle Sol was busy in the culin- 
ary department in preparing an extra and 
abundant supply of food. Tom Carter, who, as 
the reader has already observed, loved to hear 
and encourage the old darkey’s quaint and 
original sayings, was out in “ bedlam,” the 
cooking tent, with him. Sol, as he expressed it, 
was feeling a little “ashy.” There was some 
cause for his ire. For two successive nights a 
black man had been hanging about the camp. 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


159 


On his first appearance he had been agreeable 
and pleasant, had taken hold and helped Sol 
about his work, and in appreciation of these 
friendly services Sol had invited him to spend 
the night, an invitation that the stranger was 
not slow to accept. In the morning he went 
awav,*and the cook had supposed that would 
be the last of him, but on the next night he 
came back again, and on this occasion his ac- 
tions showed that he had stowed away within 
himself a goodly cargo of that great curse of the 
mountains, “corn whiskey.” He was noisy 
and talkative, apparently ready to be good 
natured or to fight, just as the circumstances 
might be, and evidently he did not care which 
he did. Our ancient Ethiopian was not unac- 
quainted with the effects of corn whiskey. In 
his long life he had seen many a man under the 
influence of it, and had been overthrown by it 
himself. He had seen men hacked almost to 
pieces with a knife on the’ slightest provocation, 
andlhe had learned by experience not to irri- 
tate a whiskey-drunken man, but to humor 
and palliate him as far as possible when under 
the influence of the liquid fire. So, to the face 
of Job Washington, for that was the strange 
negro’s name, Sol would put on a smile and act 


160 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


the part of the veriest hypocrite, but when 
Job’s back was turned, or he was out of hear- 
ing, Sol would go on muttering and bemeaning 
him terribly. 

“ You jest wait, Tom Carter, till d at nigger 
Job gits de whiskey outen him, an you’ll see 
how I’ll pay him back fer all ob dis yere fool- 
ishness an trifleness w’at he has be’n goin’ on 
with. Dey aint no use to say nuffin’ to ’im 
w’ile he got dat whiskey pizen in ’im, lease he 
dat big a fool, he’d jes as soon take a knife an 
cut me wide open. He hab his day now, lease I 
aint gwine to run the resk of gettin’ killed by 
interferrin’ befo’ de time, but you jes wait till 
de whiskey gits dead in ’im, den ole Sol be on 
top er de heap, an Job ’ill have a lesson learned 
’im, dat he aint gwine ter forgit foreber an for- 
eber.” 

“How are you going to fix him Sol?” asked 
Tom Carter. 

“Nebber you min’ now Tom, but w’en yo’ see 
de scariest nigger yo’ eber laid eyes on, yo’ des 
member w’at I done tole yo’.’’ 

With a smile Tom left the cook fuming and 
fretting over the annoyance that he felt he had 
brought into the otherwise peaceful and quiet 
camp, by being too friendly with strangers. 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


161 


Soon all the white people had retired and had 
fallen asleep. Just after midnight they were 
roused from sound slumber by a loud scream of 
terror, followed by frantic yells of fright, and 
calls for help. What could it possibly be? Was 
the drunken Negro murdering Sol? No, it could 
not be that, for the voice making the loud out- 
cry was not the familiar voice of Solomon, 
neither was it the voice of the teamster. Then it 
surely must be the voice of Job Washington, 
and that he was in great trouble and distress 
there could be no doubt. As the white men 
rushed to the tent “ bedlam ” A to ascertain the 
cause of the uproar, they could hear him, at 
times screaming with fright, and then begging 
piteously for mercy. “Help! Help!” he would 
shriek. Then he would moan and beg. “ O, Mr. 
Devils, please don’t eat me up. Please turn me 
loose. Please don’t bite me. Please don’t put 
dem cold chains on me any more. Wow ! Wow ! 
Oh, Mr. Debbie, I didn’t mean to drink so much 
of your whiskey. Oh, don’t kill me. I’ll nebber 
touch any more whiskey if you’ll only turn me 
loose, an let me off dis yere time. Oh, Sol, for 
the love of heaben can’t ye help me? Please, 
Mr. White Men, tear dese yere cold debbles off’n 


162 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


me. Please do it quick, er dis yere nigger am 
done gone fer sure.” 

Then Sol’s voice was heard talking to Job. 

“ I don’t know ’s I can give you any help, you 
drunken varmint you, an I spects de debble 
goin ? to take you right to de fiery pit whar you 
belongs, kase you aint fit ter lib an be ’round 
decent culled folks, let alone white gen’l’men 
like dem in de odder tent, w’at you is been dis- 
gracing wid your fool actions. What good it 
gwine ter do me to ast de debble to tun you 
loose when you’ll go an git drunk, an go right 
back to ’im agen. He’s done got ye now, and 
you might as well stay wha ye belong.” 

“ Oh, Sol, please don’t talk dat away, for de 
lub of heaben, if you can help me please* do it. 
De snakes is all ’roun’ me. If you’ll hep me 
out’n dis I promis nebber to drink no more. Do 
hep me. Satan am des a puttin’ de red hot 
chains on me now. Sometimes day feels hot, an 
den cold enough to freeze me. An Sol, I can feel 
de debbles a squirming all ’round me. Hits 
terrible. Hep me if you can, kase I can’t stau’ 
it much longer.” 

“ Will you swar nebber to tetch any more 
co’n whiskey, an ter leab dis camp an nebber 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


163 


bodder us any mo’ if I can git ye loose?” 
said Sol. 

“ Yes, dis nigger ’ill do any ting ter git outer 
dis fix.” 

, “Come here yo’ driver,” shouted Sol. 

The two then grasped Job Washington by the 
shoulders and jerked him out of the blankets 
where he had been lying. Then they put on his 
clothes and led the shaking, terrified man out of 
the tent just as the white men came up. 

“ What is the meaning of all this noise?” de- 
manded the Captain. 

Sol winked at Tom Carter, and replied : 

“It seems dat dis yere Job Washington got 
his hide so full of co’n whiskey he got a clean 
ctfse of the “jim jams,” which I spect am nuffin 
more nor less dan gittin’ into de clutches of ole 
Satan hisself; at any rate he says de debble has 
been a puttin’ hot and cold chains onto him, an 
snakes an varmints has been a crowdin’ ober 
’im, an if dats de case, de bes’ t’ing fer ’im ter 
do is to git away from here as quick as he can. 
So off wid you Job, dis aint a healthy place fer 
you to be in.” 

Job needed no second bidding, but shuffled off 
into the darkness, and was seen no more. When 
he w r as out of sight old Sol sat down on his 


164 


THE SILVER BULLET 


haunches and broke forth into the most im- 
moderate fit of laughter, and ceased only when 
the Captain demanded, somewhat sternly, a 
second time, what was the meaning of the recent 
uproar that had awakened the whole camp. 

“ I begs your pardon, Captain, deed I ’ones’ly 
does, but dat nigger wats jes gone frum here 
wus dat bad scared, 1 spect he won’t stop un’er 
ten mile. Didn’t I tell you, Tom, dat my time 
ud come, an I git even wif ’im. Ya, ya, didn’t 
he git it though?” And again old Sol went off 
into another fit of ecstatic laughter. “ I tole ye 
wat it is, Captain. When dat Job Washington 
come in yere last night full of fight and whiskey, 
it made me mad as a yaller jacket, w’en he’s 
meddled wif, kase I was sort o’ sponsible fer Is 
coinin’ back here ag’in. I didn’t darst to say 
nuffin while de whiskey wus hot in ’im, but I 
lowed w’en it got dead Fd blam ’im in a way he 
don’t forgit soon. While you uns was off on 
dat tramp Nick, de driber dar, went off fishing, 
an mongst oder t’ings he fotch back to camp 
about a dozen big eels. Las’ night, w’en I wus 
a thinkin’ how to come up wid Job, it strike me 
’twould be a good plan to put dem eels into de 
place whar he gwine to sleep fer de night. Arter 
Job let his mouf run away wif ’im till he aint 


1BE SILVER BULLET. 


1G5 


got no more to say, he sot down by de fire, an 
putty soon he done fall asleep. Den Nick an I 
pull off his clothes an lay *im down careful on 
top o’ dem eels. He wus. dat soun’ ’sleep he 
aint knowin’ w’at was bein’ done wid ’im, so he 
jes snored on an snored on. All de time Nick 
an me wus a waitin’ an a watchin’ fer de fun to 
begin. Arter a while hit look like Job aint goin’ 
to git scared as bad as we thought, an as if we 
wus de ones dat was a gwine to git fooled, in- 
stead of ’im. But all on a sudden he gin dat 
yell wat wak’ you uus all up. Right den an dar 
I don sperience de satisfaction er dat Scripture 
w’at says ‘vengence is mine.’ Woof! How he 
did howl an yell ! Dat’s de bottom facs of de 
case, Captain. I didn’t low the plan we fixed up 
would interfere wid de big tent folks, but laws 
me, you could a heerd dat yell two mile. So I 
hopes you’ll scuse me fer bein’ de cause ob 
routin’ you out o’ bed at tis ontimely hour. I 
knows one t’ing fer certain, dar won’t be no 
more ’casion ter trouble wid Job Washington, 
kase he’ll nebber tun up ’round dis camp any 
more. Yo’ kin inos’ shorely depen’ on dat, an 
not miss de statement.” 

This explanation proved satisfactory to all, 
and once more peace reigned around the white 


166 


THE SILVER BULLET 


tents. There is no place free from turmoil and 
discord in this world. One would have supposed . 
that in these mountain fastnesses well disposed 
people could pursue the even tenor of their 
ways. But here, as elsewhere, the trail of the 
serpent crosses the path of mankind. The ex- 
perience of the past two nights proved to the 
members of the Circle most effectually, that no 
where are we free from evil influences. They 
could only console themselves in the truth of the 
trite adage, “ All’s well that ends well.” 

The remaining hours of the night were spent 
in slumbers more profound because of the in- 
terruption. The sun had climbed high into the 
heavens when they awoke. The peace of the 
Holy Sabbath was upon them. In one sense of 
the word here in the mountains all days are 
alike. With the individual there is change, for 
secular employment ceases, but the habitations 
of men are so widely separated that the great 
hush of nature broods over each day alike. 
After breakfast the boys were lounging listlessly 
about, when that youth of restless energy, Tom 
Carter, declared that he did not much like the 
jdea of a lazy day. “ Boys, let’s do something,” 
he said, “if its no more than take up a collec- 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


1G? 

tion, for it seems to me that this dead calm is 
positively sinful . ” 

Dick Griswold suggested that they ask the 
Captain to give them a talk appropriate to the 
day. The rest heartily endorsed the idea, and 
they formed a committee of the whole to wait 
on Mr. DeRoque with their petition. That in- 
dividual was somewhat surprised to receive the 
request, but told his young friends that at 
sometime during the afternoon he would en- 
deavor to comply with their demands. In the 
meantime Uncle Sol and Nick, the driver, had 
asked and obtained permission to attend a 
Negro meeting that was to be,held several miles 
distant, and of which by some means they had 
heard. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE CAPTAIN’^ SERMONETTE. 

When the hour designated by the Captain ar- 
rived, the boys at his suggestion went with him 
to a cosy nook out by the Head. It was a 
small, natural amphitheater walled in by the 
rocky cliff and was carpeted by Nature’s own 
adornment, the brilliant, green, mountain grass. 
The Captain stood a little apart from the boys, 
and a few feet below them, while they, having 
no chairs to sit upon, reclined at ease in an un- 
conventional manner on the soft, green sward. 
The speaker, though not a trained or profes- 
sional orator, had, nevertheless, the dignified 
self-poised manner of one who had convictions, 
and ability to express them in a fairly intelli- 
gent and attractive manner. He knew he had 
the confidence of his young audience, and that 
they would give careful attention to what he 
had to say. This, with a speaker, meaus a 
great deal ; in fact, if one has not convinced his 
hearers of his own sincerity, he will have his 
labor for his pains, and his words will beat the 
empty air, for, in that case, his audience having 
eyes will see not, and having ears will hear not. 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


169 


The Captain raised his right hand towards the 
heavens and said, 

“ Boys, a moment or two of honest prayer to 
the bountiful Father above/’ and his voice rang 
out in these words, 

“Almighty Father, God. Upon this lofty 
altar, erected by Thine own Divine hand, we 
would place an additional stone, the homage of 
our hearts’ highest and purest affections, the 
tribute of our faith in Thee ; may we this day 
worship Thee in the beauty of holiness, and thus 
emulate the example of the good and true of all 
ages. We thank Thee that Thou art the Father 
of that common humanity of which we form a 
part. May we be loyal to that sublime and 
heavenly rule of action given to us by thy Divine 
Christ. To love God with all our hearts and our 
neighbor as ourselves. And when the mortal 
life is ended may we enter the immortal life made 
possible through the death and resurrection of 
Jesus Christ. Amen.” 

“ Young men,” he continued, “ my theme has 
been suggested by the wall of adamantine rock 
on which we stand. I have styled the collection 
of thoughts that I have hurriedly grouped to_ 
gether, ‘The Voices of the Rocks.’ [I shall not, 
as you might naturally suppose, treat the sub_ 


170 


THE SILVER BULLET 


ject from a geological point of view, but the 
rather form an historical standpoint. Some of 
the mental pictures that I shall paint are al- 
most as old as the history of man, but like the 
familiar paintings of Mie old masters, they are 
seen in different lights and new beauties are dis- 
covered in them by each new comer on the stage 
of life. Rocks are emblems of strength and 
power and have no little part in forming the 
faiths and superstitions of the past. In the 
form of monuments, buildings, tablets, etc., 
rocks have, in a more substantial way than 
anything else, perpetuated the annals of the re- 
mote past. I suppose that a great deal of the 
history back of five hundred years would hardly 
be credited were it not that ancient ruins attest 
the truth of what the parchment roll declares. 
Babylon and Nineveh would be a myth in the 
minds of many, and all the ancient glory and 
splendor of Egypt would be as fanciful as an 
oriental dream, were it not that her history has 
been so deeply carved in the unyielding rock 
that time and decay have not obliterated 
it. Nearly four thousand years, to say the 
least, have passed away since that massive 
structure known as the Pyramid of Cheops was 
erected on the Plain of Gizeh, as an emblem of 


r lllE SILVER LTJLLE1. 


171 


human life, the broad base signifying the begin- 
nig and the terminal point the ending of human 
existence. And I fancy the time will come when 
its neighbor, that mysterious stone head, the 
‘ Sphinx,’ that stands as a guard over this same 
Pyramid of Cheops, will, through the mystical 
emblems and characters cut in the stone of that 
famous valley, open its stony lips and break 
the silence that has brooded over it for so many 
centuries. For I am persuaded that from the 
character of that great Pyramid it contains 
som? secrets that will be valuable for the world 
to know, the nature of which I might explain if 
I had time. How much of the history of Rome, 
before the invention of the printing press, would 
be credited, did not the Coliseum raise its broken 
arches in gloomy magnificence amid the Seven 
Hills, or the Forum by its shattered but splen- 
did fragments indicate the spot where so much 
of its tragical history was enacted. How could 
we realize and believe the pitiful story of the 
Christian Martyrs did not the Catacombs 
beneath the Eternal City disclose the very rooms 
where they dwelt and the writings on the un- 
yielding rocks attest the story of their lives, 
made up of sorrow 7 and suffering for Christ’s 
sake. How much of the romantic history of 


172 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


Spain would be gone were it not for Granada 
and the Alhambra, that splendid relic of carved 
stone, which tells us of the ascendancy of the 
swart skinned Moors who beneath the ‘Star 
and Crescent ’ and in the name of Mohammed 
swarmed her sunny plains, carrying their victo- 
rious banners everywhere. What a loss to the 
art of the nineteenth century would be the obli- 
teration even of the disfigured remains of the 
Parthenon of Athens, whose hundreds of broken 
statues have been and ever will be the highest 
tj r pe of sculpture. And so we might go on and 
speak of Saint Peter’s ,at Rome, and the Vatican, 
with their treasures wrought in stone, that 
stand as connecting links in the great chain of 
history that unites the remote ages with the 
present time; of the Louvre in Paris, and Of 
Westminster, in London, with its wealth of ‘sto- 
ried urn and animated bust;’ but it is not our 
intention to cover a wide field in our line of 
thought. Rather, we shall speak of a few of the 
famous rocks in the world’s history, and draw 
moral lessons from them. What we have al- 
ready alluded to will serve as an introduction 
to what will follow. I wish to call your atten- 
tion now to the influence that the voices of the 
rocks have on the hearts and lives of men. Bear 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


173 


in mind, please, that as I speak of these voices 
I do not mean that they speak to us in audible 
tones, but use the term in the same sense that 
the great Apostle spoke of the ancient worthies 
of whom he said, ‘ They being dead yet speak- 
eth.’ 

“ Go back with me in your minds, if you please, 
more than three thousand years ago to the 
Valley of Er Rahah, by the Red Sea in Arabia. 
We are standing now on the Plains. Before us, 
like some giant sentinels are a pile of grey old 
rocks heaped one on the other until the top- 
most crag pierces the ether blue above to the' 
height of seven thousand feet above the level 
of the Red Sea. In ordinary circumstances it is 
a lonely, solemn, grand, picturesque old pile, 
but as we stand before it in fancy, one of the 
most awful scenes that ever presented itself to 
the gaze of mortals is being enacted. In the 
vale in front of us, having the appearance of 
whitecapped sea waves when a fresh gale is blow- 
ing on shore, are the white walls of thousands of 
tents, and further on toward the base of the 
mountains are a multitude of people, men, 
women, and children, with faces, pale and awe- 
stricken, turned toward the hills. The people 
are of that secular race called the Israelites, 


174 


THE SILVER BULLET . 


and this is their encampment. There is some- 
thing so extremely poetical in the scene before 
us that we instinctively call to mind the words 
of Baalim, the Prophet, ‘ How goodly are they 
tents, 0, Jacob, and thy tabernacles. 0, 
Israel.’ But why this strange sight, and why 
are the people affected with such strange emo- 
tions? We follow with our eyes the direction of 
their faces, and lo, a feeling of solemnity comes 
over our heart, for the crest of Mount Sinai is 
enveloped with a dense, black shroud of storm 
cloud. Ever and anon deep rumblings, like the 
growls of some disturbed beast, run along the 
sky, vivid lightnings dart from the brow of the 
storm, and at intervals awful crashes of thunder 
make the firmament shake beneath us. If we 
are sitting, we spring to our feet. Words fail 
to express our emotions; we can only wait with 
dreadful expectancy the issues of the hour. No 
such scene was ever before beheld, and never 
will be again, unless it be on that dread morn 
when Gabriel’s trumpet shall sound the alarm 
that ‘Judgment Day ’ has come. As we look 
with lingering suspense on these supernatural 
manifestations, suddenly a gateway is opened 
in the cloud. Through it, and down the moun- 
tain side, walks a man, around whose head is a 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


175 


halo of glory; rays of light play about his per- 
son ; his garments are of a dazzling whiteness 
that is unearthly. In his arms he bears two 
tablets of stone that have come forth from the 
hand of God. On them are carved words that 
are familiar to all in this presence, beginning 
with this announcement: ‘Thou shalt have no 
other Gods before me, etc.’ I need not repeat 
the rest. Suffice it to say that no code of morals 
was ever conceived by the mind of man that 
begins to approach it. The seal of Divinity was 
upon it. Ushered into the presence of man 
amid fire and cloud and awful crashing 
thunders, with great supernatural manifesta- 
tions, it is "no wonder that they who were 
actors in the scene I have portrayed were in- 
fluenced by them and looked upon these stones 
as Divine Oracles. As you, young men, advance 
in life, and study history and men, you will be- 
come more deeply impressed with the influence 
the Ten Commandments have had on our race. 
I venture the assertion here that I may not be 
able to maintain, to the satisfaction of every 
one, but which I believe myself, it is this : 
That of all the ancient nations that have re- 
tained their nationality, such as India, China, 
etc., who have distinctive religions that 


176 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


contain many good and righteous precepts, 
if the real history of these faiths could be traced 
to the fountain head, it would be found that 
the better part of them were but the echoes of 
the ‘ Voices of the Rocks ’ that Moses brought 
down Mount Sinai on that eventful day of 
which I have spoken. Modern researches have 
brought to light some curious things. For in- 
stance, there has been found in China, in one of 
the ancient tombs, a vessel similar to those 
that were common in Egypt at the time of Moses 
and the exodus of the children of Israel. The 
Jews have ever been a wandering race, and we 
think it not a wild fancy to believe that some of 
them found their way, even in the early days, 
as far as China, carrying with them wares of va- 
rious kinds for the purpose of barter, and among 
them vessels of the description named. Of 
course, wherever a Jew went he carried with him 
a knowledge of the true God, and His revelation 
of His will concerning mankind, as made known 
in the Ten Commandments. A wise and learned 
man like Kungfutese, the celebrated Chinese 
philosopher, in after [time may have met with 
Jews and from them learned something of that 
rigid type of justice and morals that character- 
ized his life and teachings, and which he incor- 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


177 


porated into his writings. Of course, there 
must have been much modification, only a re- 
flection of the supreme blessedness of the truth 
that first shone on Sinai. You will not think 
my theory so improbable, when I say there can 
be no doubt that the purest and best precepts 
of the Alkoran were plagiarized by Mohammed 
from the sayings and teachings of Jesus Christ. 
For in his younger days he travelled extensively 
with a caravan through Persia and Arabia, 
where it would be the strangest thing in the 
world if he did not meet Christian travellers. 
They who have read the Koran cannot have 
failed to have noticed the marked similarity of 
some of the passages with tho$e of the New 
Testament. Not only the New Testament 
writers, but other ancient’writers, have contrib- 
uted to that store of sayings that go to make 
up what the true Musselman believes to be the 
divinely inspired utterances and writings of the 
renowned Prophet of Islam. One may safely 
conclude, then, that the better portions of the 
Koran are also echoes of the ‘Voices of the 
Rocks’ of Sinai. But not alone in religious 
faiths do the voices of the rocks speak to us. 
In all the highest civilized nations of the world, 
where all classes of men, the rich and poor alike, 


178 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


receive protection of life and property, and have 
guaranteed to them those privileges that one 
man has a right to expect from another, you 
will find that the laws that are framed to main- 
tain those rights inviolate are based on 
the principals contained in the Ten Com- 
mandments. All good men recognize at 
once the justice and truth of those principles. 
So lofty hud ’pure are they that were the first 
and most important of all left out of the code, 
it would still be vastly superior to any other 
code of morals that the world has become ac- 
quainted with. Let us thank God that we live 
in a land where they are usually acknowledged 
to be the precepts by which people should gov- 
ern themselves. Perhaps no nation on earth 
has been so. fully influenced by them as the 
United States of America. The founders of our 
Republic were men whose previous training had 
been along that line. They felt that the Au- 
thor of them was on their side and if they were 
true to Him he would give them success in the 
great effort they were making to transmit to 
future generations the grandest nation the sun 
ever shone upon. We are proud, today, to 
know that the descendants of those heroic men 
have not forgotten the lives of the ‘Fathers,’ 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


179 


or to emulate their example. It is true that 
fraud and corruption have crept in to some ex- 
tent, but that is the exception, and soon as dis- 
covered meets the condemnation of all good 
men. The masses are following the right. They 
ma3 r not stand on that high plane of life that 
an ardent Christian would desire, but the ten- 
dency is upward. It is a source of satisfaction to 
know that on our National coinage is the legend 
4 In God we Trust/ It may seem to. be a para- 
dox in view of the wide diversity of opinion 
among political parties with reference to what 
should be the standard in the coinage of gold 
and silver. It is charitable and safe, however, to 
conclude that both extremes of that great 
financial problem are honest and sincere in their 
convictions and are working for what they con- 
ceive to be the common weal. ( Paradoxical as 
it may seem, we believe the motto on the coins 
of the United States is, in every sense of the 
word, the Nation’s tribute to the influence of 
those voices carved in the rocks of Sinai. Our 
people carry that legend in their pockets— many 
of them in their hearts. Would to God it might 
shine out everywhere, that it might have a 
conspicuous place in the Senate Chamber at 
Washington ; on the walls of the House of Rep- 


180 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


resentatives where our State Legislators could 
see it ; in our manufactures, in our store 
houses, on our weights and measures, on our 
yard sticks, in our houses, and above all, en- 
graven on the fleshly tablets of our hearts with 
indellible letters that never could be effaced. 
For the realization of that legend would lead 
us to the everlasting habitations of blessed- 
ness and peace. 

“ But I must go on to speak of other voices 
that through the rocks have spoken to the 
hearts and consciences of men, perhaps, not so 
loudly or so long as those already mentioned, 
yet loud enough to leave an influence with mil- 
lions. Let us go again, in fancy, to the sunny 
clime of the Orient — to Arabia, ‘ Araby the 
Blest/ the land of poetry where Nomadic 
tribes wander o’er the desert sands on fleet 
and beautiful steeds, whose feet seemingly are 
shod with the speed of the winds ; where dwell 
the men, who, for long centuries have abstained 
from strong drink of any kind, who point with 
pride to the thirty-fifth chapter of the Book of 
Jeremiah and cry, ‘ Behold in this the history of 
our tribe, and see how consistent we have been 
in keeping the command of the Almighty given 


THE SILVER BULLET ; 


181 


to JonadAb the son of Recab.’ For awhile, let 
us wander where the Enchanter waves his magic 
wand, where the fabulous Geni instead of being a 
myth, is believed to be a veritable being, where 
the date palm grows, that slender, stately tree 
of which Bayard Taylor has written in these 
words : 

‘ A shaft of silver shining bright 
With leaves of Beryl and Malachite 
With spikes of golden bloom ablaze 
And fruits of Topaz and Chrysopraze.’ 

“ On the wings of thought let us fly to Bagdad, 
the city of the Caliphs, with its shining, white 
walls, its massive domes and slender minarets, 
that in the distance, when the sunlight shines 
upon them, seem like a beautiful, glittering 
crown in the desert. Almost in reverence, we 
gaze upon it as we call to mind our boyhood 
days, when we were enchanted with its history, 
as portrayed to us through pages of the 
Arabian Nights. Infancy, we see again Haroun 
A1 Raschild and his beautiful wife, Zobeedee, 
sitting on the throne, surrounded by all the 
magnificence of that Oriental court. If we 
fly as the eagle flies, or the carrier dove, 
from our lofty eyrie far away to the southward 
we see what seems to be a red line fringed on 
either side, of a part of its length at least, with 


182 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


high hills that run from west to east. That is 
the Red Sea, where Pharaoh and his host went 
down beneath the waves blown against them 
by the breath of God. Not a great dis- 
tance from its borders is the spot where I 
would have you linger for awhile. Just at what 
time the event referred to occurred we may not 
say, but it may have been two centuries after 
that far away time when the Patriarch Abra- 
ham stood in the doorway of his tent holding 
by the hand the mournful Hagar, who, with the 
child Ishmael were to separate from him for- 
ever on earth. There has sprung from the loins 
of the child in the interval a populous tribe who 
live a wandering life. At times they pitch their 
black tents on the burning desert sand, and 
then on the fertile plains beneath the refreshing 
shade of the ‘ palm tree.’ At such an hour, 
happy is the lot of the stranger who is invited 
to eat salt with them and partake of their rest 
and shelter. Let us fancy, at present, that with 
them is evening time. 

‘ That mystical hour, when 
Touched by a light that hath no name 
A glory never sung 
Aloft on sky and mountain wall 
Are God’s great pictures hung. 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


183 


How changed the summits vast and old, 

No longer granite browed, 

They melt in rosy mist, the rock 
Seems softer than the cloud. 

The valley holds its breath, no leaf 
Of all its trees is twirled, 

The silence of eternity 

Seems falling on the world.’ 

“ Before us is the encampment, the smouldering 
embers of the fire recall the fact that the evening 
meal is finished. The low crooning of voices 
tells us that the Bedouin mothers are humming 
some strange carol to lull the little ones to rest. 
The men of the camp— tall, sedate and swarthy 
in hue — are reclining at ease in groups under the 
palm trees, looking up into the sky and watch- 
ing the stars that hang like evening lamps over- 
head. That wondrous sky of Arabia! It seems 
like a canopy hung just above where the stars 
are so large one could fancy that he might 
easily reach up his hand and pluck from the 
crown of night any one of its brilliant gems 
from its eternal setting. The conversation of 
these men might have been of the stars, for oft 
in journeying over the desert had they looked 
to them for guidance, and by the light derived 
from them made their way to some welcome 
oasis. It may be that in their ignorance and 


184 


THE ST EVER BULLET. 


superstition they had worshipped them as a 
manifestation of the Deity. While they are sit- 
ting there and conversing an event transpires 
that throws the whole camp into confusion. 
Quick exclamations of surprise spring from the 
lips of the men; every eye, for the instant, is 
turned upward. If we had been there we might 
have beheld, flying through space with the 
rapidity of thought, a huge ball of Are lighting 
up all the heavens in its course as if the sun had 
broken loose from its orbit and was hurling it- 
self against the world. Down it comes into the 
very midst of them, burying itself in the ground 
and shaking the firmairient as if old earth were 
trembling under the mighty throes of an earth- 
quake. Has a God descended in wrath among 
them ? In an instant every form is prostrate in 
awe or terror. When some time has elapsed 
without further manifestations, they venture to 
raise their heads and look to the spot where the 
awful visitor fell. By and by they approach and 
look upon it. What think you they saw ? Sim- 
ply a rock. One of our modern mineralogists 
would call it an igneous rock, or to be more ex- 
plicit, a meteoric ^stone, of unusual size and 
irregular form, the part protruding from the 
earth being from six to eight feet square. We 


1 HE SILVER BULLET. 


185 


can imagine with what reverence those primi- 
tive men looked upon it, with how much of mys- 
tery they clothed it. Is it any wonder that in 
their ignorance, and with their highly imagina- 
tive minds, they came to the conclusion that it 
was a messenger sent from the gods, who are 
supposed to dwell in the regions above. Some 
might have imagined, from the hissing, crack- 
ling noise made by the stone in its rapid de- 
scent, that they heard voices speaking to them. 
At any rate, by this means, or from a lack of 
audible command, as well as from the absence 
of hieroglyphics or inscriptions to inform them 
of the significance of its strange advent, they 
regarded it as a fitting shrine of worship, and 
at intervals afterward they were wont to come 
to it and perform religious rites and ceremonies. . 
The fame of the spot as a shrine of worship in- 
creased with the advance of years. In due time 
a temple was built about it, and its base in- 
cased with solid silver to prevent the stone be- 
ing worn away by the kisses of devout wor- 
shippers. Thus it remains to this day. The 
story of its strange advent was magnified and 
highly colored until finally a religious system 
was constructed out of its dramatic details. 
Bather insignificant at first were the number of 


186 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


its devotees, but they slowly increased until in 
the sixth century A. D. there stepped on the 
stage of great human events that wonderful 
man who declared that there was but one god 
and Mohammet was his prophet. In arranging 
for his system of religion he knew that he must 
look for success and followers from the wor- 
shippers at the shrine of which we have spoken. 
And he very shrewdly made it take a prominent 
part in the new faith that he proclaimed. He 
encouraged the highly imaginative stories that 
had arisen concerning it, and without doubt 
added to them so as to make it appear that the 
stone was brought from heaven by the angel 
Gabriel. That when it first arrived its color was 
as white as snow, but by having absorbed the 
- sins of those who had made a pilgrimage to it 
became of its present black hue. Besides this, 
he made it obligatory on all true Musselmen to 
make a pilgrimage to it at least once in a life- 
time, a demand that is held so sacred that it 
is estimated that from seventy to one hundred 
thousand persons comply with it every year. 
So loudly has this rock spoken to the world 
that today the eyes of one hundred and fifty 
millions of the earth’s inhabitants are turned 
towards Mecca and the Caaba or Holy Stone. 


THE SILVER BULLET . 


187 


“ Let us leave the land of the Orient for a while 
and turn our eyes toward the Occident, to the 
Metropolis of the world, to London, with its 
fog and smoke. And especially to that re- 
nowned building within its precincts know as 
the British Museum, where are gathered to- 
gether more relics of the past than at any other 
spot on earth. With the guide we enter the de- 
partment of Archeology. We pass up and down 
the different corridors looking with wonder and 
interest on the various objects that meet our 
vision, objects that represent nearly every age 
from the present back to the origin of man. Our 
guide stops before a cabinet and pointing to a 
number of stone tablets on which are carved 
cuneiform characters, he says, 4 These are the 
celebrated tablets that w r ere exhumed from the 
ruins of Ninevah, on which are inscribed what is 
known as the Chaldean account of the flood. 
If we are believers in the Old and New Testa- 
ment Scriptures we can but look upon these 
antiquities with great satisfaction, for they are 
to us voices of testimony. How often have we 
heard infidels and skeptics argue with a great 
deal of sarcasm that the Old Testament was a 
work of fiction, mainly, that the story of the 
flood was a myth, and of modern fabrication. 


188 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


But let us look upon these stone tablets, and to 
the ear of our reason as well as faith, we hear 
voices speaking to us from a city that was old 
when Heroditus, the Father of History, was 
born. It gives us an account of the Deluge in 
words almost exactly like those in the Mosaic 
account. The genuineness of the tablets are 
beyond dispute, and the testimony they give, is 
welcomed by all Christians, because it forever 
puts aside the theory that the story of the 
flood is of modern fabrication. 

“ There is another rock that comes to us with 
voices of testimony to substantiate the facts of 
the Bible; I refer to that high cliff in the 
province of Behistun, in western Persia, con- 
taining an account of the reign and life of King 
Darius. The rock rises abruptly from the 
plains to a height of nearly seventeen hundred 
feet. The inscription is about midway up the 
face of the cliff, and covers a space of several 
hundred square feet. It is unrivalled in beauty 
of execution and correctness. Covered over 
with a coat of silicious varnish, it has withstood 
the storms of nearly thirty centuries, and what 
is more marvelous in later times the iconoclas- 
tic fury of the Mohammedans. This inscrip- 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


189 


tion corroborates in many particulars the Old 
Testament record of this same ‘King Darius.’ 

“I have now spoken briefly of some of the 
renowned rocks that speak to us through silent, 
stony lips of great events in the history of man, 
of the influence they have had, and how the 
course of human events has been affected by 
them. I have now to speak of one other Rock 
and I am done. You will notice that in 
two instances that we have referred to, the 
rocks came from above, namely, those that 
Moses brought down Mount Sinai, and 
the Caaba, or Holy Stone of Mecca. This 
other Rock, of which I am about to speak, 
also comes from above. It was not an 
unexpected visitor, however, for four thous- 
and years before its coming to earth a promise 
had been made to that effect. Through the 
long intervening centuries that followed the 
promise, prophets had foretold its coming, in- 
spired bards had sung of its glory and beauty, 
and finally, when it did come, it was with 
Divine manifestations more marked and glo- 
rious than any of the others to which I have re- 
ferred. The devout Mohammedan will tell you 
that the angel Gabriel brought the Holy Stone 
of Mecca from Paradise. When this Rock of 


190 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


which I speak made its appearance eighteen 
hundred years ago, in the manger of the stable 
at Bethlehem in Judea, there appeared to shep- 
herds of that same country who were watching 
their flocks at night, a multitude of the 
heavenly host crying glory to God, in the 
highest, peace on earth, good will to men. And 
the xeason of their glad acclamations was, 
‘That there had been born in the the city of 

i 

David, a Saviour, who was Christ, the Lord/ 
You will infer at once that I am now speaking 
of the ‘Bock of Ages/ and your conjectures will 
be true. It is ‘He/ of whom David wrote ‘He 
is my Bock, and my fortress/ ‘He’ is the 
‘Stone’ the prophets saw cut out of the moun- 
tain that rolled and increased until it filled 
the whole earth. Do you ask me what its in- 
fluence has been on the heart of humanity ? I 
answer by saying that, today, four hundred 
millions of human souls, though it may be 
under different names, are looking to it for sal- 
vation and heaven. Thousands have been tried 
as by fire as to the genuineness of their faith in 
this Bock. They tell that by the transforming in- 
fluence of the Bock of Ages the heart has been 
changed from evil to good, from darkness to 
light, from sorrow to happiness. This Bock 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


191 


cotnes to the soul in its hours of supreme loneli- 
ness and g;rief, with a healing; balm that lifts it 
above suffering; and pain, and enables it to lall 
into the last long sleep of death with joy and 
not with grief. Its voice has spoken to us, and 
millions today have set aside their usual 
plans and avocations in obedience to its 
mandate, and here, in the ‘Land of the Sky/ we 
rest by faith beneath its shelter, and it is to us 
the shelter of a great rock in a weary land. 
That will be a great day for the world when all 
of the inhabitants thereof shall be able to say 
by faith : 

‘ Rock of Ages cleft for me, 

I have hid myself in Thee.’ 

“I trust that I shall not be considered egotis- 
tical or sanctimonious if I take this occasion to 
advise you, young men, to heed the voices that 
speak to you through the Rock of Ages. These 
voices come to you in the words of the Holy 
Bible. You hear them in the tones of the Sab- 
bath bells as they call the worshippers to the 
house of prayer. They speak to you in the 
lives of pure and good men and women. Through 
the sweet memories of childhood, when you bent 
at your mother’s knee, and with clasped hands 
and bowed head you followed her in the prayer 


192 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


she taught you to say. It may be that some 
of you have stood by the shore of that dark 
and leaden stream, which we call the River of 
, Death. You have seen some loved one about to 
enter the deep, unfathomable waters, and your 
spirit sank within you as you saw them go 
down into the unknown and mysterious night, 
but 0, what joy came to you as the loved one 
in passing out of sight shouted back ‘My feet 
are on the solid Rock of Ages.’ From that safe 
refuge are voices echoing back to us, ‘ Meet me 
again in the Better Land above.’ What shall 
be the answer we will give in reply? Let it be 
this: ‘We come, we come.’ ‘Lo, in the volume 
of the Book it is written, I delight to do Thy 
will, 0 Lord.’” The speaker paused and bowed 
his head, then, after a brief period of silence, 
solemnly said “amen.” 

Quietly he turned from his thoughtful au- 
dience and made his way among the trees to 
commune with his own heart, and each of the 
boys, having caught the spirit that animated 
the speaker, followed his example. The sun, 
having run its* course across the skies, sank be- 
hind the western horizon, its lingering rays 
tinging tree tops and mountain tops with fire, 
and as the night wind whispered softly through 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


193 


the trees, it seemed to say to each of them, 
“The Lord is in His Holy Temple.” Such was 
the benediction that closed the humble Sabbath 
service on “Caesar’s Head Mountain.” 

They tell us that the true preacher of righ- 
teousness is he alone, who, having felt within 
him the call to the work of the ministry, 
has graduated from classic halls, and has been 
consecrated by the laying on of hands to that 
work, and that, perhaps, is the safe ground to 
take. But we also believe that very frequently 
God lays his hands on a layman, and touches 
his tongue with a coal of fire for a special oc- 
casion, and, if the layman be true to the oppor- 
tunity presented, marvelous will be the results 
of his loyalty and faithfulness to duty. 


CHAPTER IX. 

OLD SOL’S SABBATH. 

Uncle Sol and Nick, the driver, having, as we 
said, obtained release fi,;om further duty at the 
camp for the day, started for a Negro meeting 
that was in progress several miles away. On 
the journey they met with others of their race 
bound for the same place. Now, Sol, in his 
every-day life, was somewhat practical and be- 
lieved in a certain kind of appropriateness in 
things. For instance, his labor did not call for 
his being dressed in fine linen, and, provided he 
was clad in clean garments, he did not mind 
having his clothes adorned with a neat patch 
or two. But on Sunday it was different. He 
had been brought up in the Calhoun family. 
On Sunnday and on special occasions the hands 
at the quarters must don their best. In con- 
sequence of this custom of the good old ante- 
bellum days, Sol always had his better suit 
for Sundays, and no bishop with his white 
stock and clerical garb could array himself with 
more wholesome taste and dignity than this 
old darkey, who in his earlier days had been 
accustomed to wait on the “Royalty” of our 


IRE SILVER LTJLLE1. 


195 


American Republic. On this occasion he wore 
upon his head a tall, white silk hat, an article 
rarely seen in these times, but quite in the style 
half a century since. It was out of style, but 
hardly the worse for wear. His other garments 
were of good material, having done previous 
service for some of the quality folks. In his 
hand he bore an ivory headed cane, this, with 
the immaculate shirt front, collar and cravat, 
made a striking, but not unpleasant contrast 
with his ebony skin. He created quite a sensa- 
tion among the various groups of Negroes 
whom they met, and many were the comments 
that were made concerning him by one and 
another. 

A boy said to his mate : “ Dar is a man wats 

close to de top o’ de heap, shore’s you’r borned.” 

Another, judging from Sol’s clothes, took him 
to be a ministerial character. “ Reckoned ” he 
must be a “slidin elder.” (Presiding elder.) 

Sol, beaming all over with good nature and 
good will, knew nothing and cared nothing for 
these remarks. He had a friendly word for all, 
and by the time he reached his destination, was 
a stranger to none. This Negro church was a 
type of a great many of its class in the back- 
woods and sparsely settled districts of the Pal- 


196 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


metto State. It was a rude, one-story structure, 
made of logs, and went by the name of “ Sweet 
Caanan Church.” It was in a thick grove of old- 
field pines. There were no glass windows, but 
in their stead, wooden shutters. The congre- 
gation sat on “ puncheon benches. ’’ The pulpit 
was a small fence of undressed plank. Outside, 
but in close proximity, were a number of logs 
with the bark stripped off to serve as seats v^hen 
a large congregation overflowed the house. Oar 
representatives of Caesar’s Head camp arrived 
sometime before services began. Sol, who had 
not been backward about introducing himself, 
was now introduced by others. Among those 
on the ground was a stout, portly old Negress. 
Her wool was white as snow. She had a strong, 
but not unkindly voice, and one could see, by 
the universal respect paid her, that she was 
a mother in Israel. As Uncle Sol came up the 
old lady was sitting out in the sunshine on one 
of the bare, weather-worn logs. In her hands 
she held a corn cob pipe, w 7 hich she had just 
loaded with home twist, doubtless raised in her 
own garden patch. She was fumbling about in 
her capacious pockets for a match to light it 
with, but having failed to find that desired ar- 
ticle, was giving vent to her disappointment. 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


197 


“Des look at dat now, l’se done b’en forgot to 
bring some matches wif me, an dey aint nobody 
be’n made any fire so I can git a coal to lite by. 
Lordy, Lordy, wat I coming to ? Hit look like 
my membrance done pas doin’ me any good 
now days, an I does want a smoke dat bad I 
dun no wat to do. Hit’s powerful bad to git 
old an fergitful. But bless de good Lord hit 
aint gwine las’ much longer. Aunt Patty git 
ober on de shinin’ shore one er dese yere days, 
den she wont be pestered with a fergitful mem- 
brance. But laws me, wat dat I see? Ef dare 
aint Ikey Clayton. Here you, honey,” she said, 
addressing a boy standing near, “ you jes run 
ober an ask Uncle Ikey to loan me his specticles 
to lite my pipe wif.” 

Uncle Ike was accommodating, and the boy 
returned with the glasses, whereupon Aunt 
Patty, who was sitting in the sunlight, drew a 
focus on the bowl of her pipe. The sun’s rays 
concentrated on the tobacco soon heated it to 
a flame of fire, and Aunt Patty, clasping the 
pipe between her well developed lips, gave a 
huge grunt of satisfaction as she drew into her 
mouth long draughts of smoky consolation. 

“You take dem specs back to Uncle Ikey, 
honey, an tell ’im ‘ thanky,’ an ‘ howdy ’ fer me.” 


198 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


Uncle Sol, who, during this little incident, had 
come up close to Aunt Patty, had been indulg- 
ing in a little study of human nature on his own 
account. Like a good many of his race, he 
dearly loved something good to eat and drink. 
(This is not a strange or remarkable character- 
istic, however, for we presume it would apply to 
many of the white race as well as the black.) 
After a careful survey of the aged sister, Sol 
reasoned on this wise: “Now, here’s a fine, 
plump-looking colored lady,” her neat head 
handkerchief, spotless apron and general ap- 
pearance, gave an index into her personal 
habits. The general attention and court paid 
her showed that she was popular with both old 
and young. Now, among church people, black 
and white, popularity is the fruit of tw r o causes, 
namely, deep piety and generous hospitality. 
Sometimes a person will possess but one of 
these characteristics, but w^hen the homage of 
popularity comes from both old and young, you 
may depend upon it, that the object of popu- 
larity is both pious and hospitable. Now, as 
animals out on the desert or in the wilderness, 
having for hours suffered the pangs of thirst, 
are able to scent the cooling water afar off, and 
if left to themselves will take the shortest route 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


199 


to the refreshing fountains, so the animal in- 
stinct in Sol’s nature led him to believe there 
was a good dinner in store for him if he was 
sharp enough to find the sure road to it. The 
first step was to get an introduction to Aunt 
Patty and make her acquaintance. His inge- 
nuity and natural fertility of resources enabled 
him to acomplish this without much trouble. 
He leisurely pulled a pipe out of his own pocket, 
and, having filled it, unmindful of the fact that 
he had plenty of matches about his person, went 
up to Aunt Patty and thus addressed her : 

“Sister, will you please be so kin’ as to gib 
me de loan ob your pipe to lite min’ wid ?” 

The old lady, who had not, up to this time, 
noticed the presence of Sol, looked him over, 
and, being favorably impressed, replied : 

“ Why, sartinly, brudder, you kin have a lite 
an’ welcome. I knows jes how ’tis to be wifout 
matches. I dat pestered a few minutes ago, I 
dunno w’at I do fur one mysef. I reckon you 
is a stranger ’bout yere, aint you ? I doan 
’member to seen you ’fore dis.” 

“ Yessum, dis de fus time I ebber come dis 
way. I sorter looking arter a party o’ white 
folks up at de Caesar’s Head Hotel, an hearin’ 
dey was to be preachin’ down yere I thought 


200 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


I’d saunter ’roun’. Pears lik’ you aint no stran- 
ger Missus. Seems if all de breddern and sis- 
ters done look up to you same ’s if you wus de 
mammy of dem all. I aint much s’prised dat 
dey do, dey des kaint natcherly hep it. Any 
one kin see dat you is to blame yousef fer all de 
kine wishes an good feelin’s dey has to’ards 
you.” 

“ Laws me. Does you think so?” said the 
pleased old lady. 

“Cose I does,” said the wily black diplomat. 
“ I knows de genuwine sort o’ Christian w’en I 
sees um, I does. I lowed to mysef w’en I seed all 
er dem young people, an old ones too, a cornin’ 
up an a shaking hands wif you an sayin’ ‘howdy 
Aunt Patty,’ I say to mysef, ‘ Now dat air nice 
lookin’ sister ’minds me of ole Aunt Hannah, 
w’at used ter cook fer Marse John Calhoun, 
w’at I belongs to ’fore de war. All de great 
folks frum Washin’ton and Columby used ter 
come ter our house and dey say dat Hannah 
wus de beatinest cook dey ebber did see. One 
time w’en dey had some big doin’s goin’ on 
Marse John had a Frenchman come to de great 
house an fix up a hull chance er fancy tricks in 
de way of eatin’, an mixed em up long er de 
de tings w’at Aunt Hannah cook. Hit des made 


THE SILVER BULLET . 


201 


all de niggers laf fit to kill deirselves w’en dey 
foun 7 dat de comp’ny nebber touch de French 
nick knacks at all, but des clean up all er Aunt 
Hannah’s fixin’s to de las’ crumb an bones. 
Marse John des frow his money way dat time 
fur sure. He lowed dat much hissef, an he gib 
Aunt Hannah five dollar gole piece outer comp- 
ment to her cookin’. Now, w’en I fust see you, 
Aunt Fatty, you so much like Aunt Hannah I 
low you mus’ be some kin to her, an I low you 
can des lay ober de whole settlement on cookin’. 
Now des tells me ef I aint hit de bull’s eye pumb 
in de center — des tells me now,’ and Sol gave his 
knee a tremendous slap in defiance of any con- 
tradiction to his statement. 

Aunt Patty, who took Sol’s flattering compli- 
ments for the Gospel truth, was highly pleased 
at the comparison. So she said : 

“I doesn’t perfes ter be de bes’ dey is at cook- 
in’ but aint many ob dem kin tun me down 
hereabouts. Now, Mr. Calhoun, if you des come 
ober ter our cabin ter day ter dinner, I show 
wat de Claytons kin do in de way ob cookin’ a 
common dinner, cos we aint got, in dese times, 
w’at we used to hab at de big house in de 
slabery days, but I shows you w’at we kin do 
wid common t’ings.” 


202 


THE SILVER BULLET 


“Now, des see here,” pleaded Sol, “what I 
done? I much erbliged to you fer de invite, but 
I des kant come kase dat look lak I done invite 
myse’f to dinner w’en hits on’y my membrance 
done got stirred up by de ’semblance ’tween you 
an Hannah Calhoun.” 

“ Nere you min’ w’at hit looks lik, said Patty, 
you bleeged ter tak’ dinner wif us today er I’ll 
des git ’fended wid you. Arter we has a good 
meetin’ I des want ter show you some ob de 
Clayton style, so you des ’blidged to come, now 
say ‘yes,’ an done wif it.” 

“If dat’s de case, cos I aint gwine to have 
no ’fences took, so I’ll be on ban’. I trus, Aunt 
Patty, we will hab de baptism ob de sperrit an’ 
a rale gen o wine old hallalujah.” 

To which salutation a hearty “ amen ” was 
responded. Old Sol, having now made himself 
solid for the time being for this world, entered 
the log church, made his way to the amen cor- 
ner and proceeded to put himself in the way of 
getting all the good and enjoyment he could of 
the world to come through his faith and man- 
ner of worship. The church rapidly filled, the 
brethren in the amen corner started a prelimi- 
nary service of song on their own account. 
These songs were what the negroes call “ spir- 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


203 


ituals.” Some of them were old time favorites, 
such as “ Swing low, sweet chariot, ” “ Some- 
body’s buried in de graveyard,” etc. Many of 
them were impromptu songs, the leader singing 
and composing the air and words on the instant 
and introducing at the end of every two lines 
some familiar chorus in which the whole con- 
gregation joined heartily. To the mind of the 
writer a real, genuine Negro service is a wonder- 
ful performance, viewed from any standpoint, 
and this Sunday service at Sweet Canaan 
Church was a typical one. In the first place 
there was an absence of anything like cold for- 
mality. The cordial greeting on every hand, 
the hearty “ Howdy Brother So and So” and 
“ Howdy Sister So and So, ” the good-natured 
crowding in, the comfortable rustling and set- 
tling down, the postures and arranging of 
bright ribbon^ and wearing apparel so they 
would show to the best advantage; all be- 
tokened a happy, free-from-care race, who had 
come to church expecting to have a joyful, 
happy time, and were having it, too. This 
audience was like a well-tuned harp ; the preacher 
represented the performer, the people, the harp- 
strings. A sweep of the preacher’s hand in the 
direction of the males in the amen corner would 


204 


THE SILVER BULLET 


bring forth a storm of “ amens,” in the heaviest, 
sweetest and purest bass imaginable. Another 
sweep of the hand toward the aged sisters, who 
clustered in the corner opposite the amen 
brethren, would set the bulky females to rock- 
ing their bodies backward and forward, the 
meanwhile crooning in a sort of monotone. 
The subdued um-um-um music of their voices 
was like the sighing of the winds in the tree 
tops. In front of the speaker the younger people 
clustered, and their shouts were represented by 
the shrill treble of youthful females, miugled with 
the sweeter tones of alto and tenor. Somehow 
the vast human harp was in perfect tune and 
sympathy with the speaker, who played upon it 
at will. It was indeed a “ harp with a thousand 
strings.” The preacher, on this occasion, was a 
Rev. Mr. Jones, who was tall and slender, with a 
face as black as midnight, and almost expres- 
sionless when at ease. So tall was he that he 
seemed almost like a shadow or spectre gliding 
about. The rude pulpit, behind which he sat, 
was very tall, and when the Rev. Mr. Jones 
knelt down to make the opening prayer, one 
who was irreverent enough to keep his eyes 
open during the invocation, could barely see 
the top of the preacher’s head, and this was all 


TEE SILVER BULLET. 


205 


he could see of the suppliant except an occa- 
sional black hand that shot upward or out side- 
ways, in much the same manner as a toy doll 
worked by a string flings its limbs in every di- 
rection. The loud, sonorous voice proceeding 
from powerful lungs gave evidence, however, 
that there was both energy and physical force 
back on the rostrum. As he closed his prayer, 
the minister rose and cast a slowly sweeping 
glance over the assembly. Suddenly his eye 
became riveted at a point in the central aisle 
about half way down the room. To the aston- 
ishment of his auditors, he suddenly sprang out 
of the pulpit, rushed down the aisle, stopped 
near the center and snatched up a pin, which 
he carefully fastened to the lapel of his coat. 
He then leisurely walked back to the rostrum, 
saying as he did so, “ Chillun, my ole mammy 
taught me never to waste a pin an’ I ain’t 
nebber forgot dat ar piece of advice yit. ” Be- 
ginning at the point where he left off, he re- 
sumed his slowly sweeping survey of his audi- 
ence until he had completed the circle, after 
which, adjusting his spectacles and passing a red 
bandanna handkerchief across his forehead, he 
announced his text as being found in the tenth 
chapter of the Book of Revelations, the first 


206 


THE SILVEB BULLET. 


and second verses, beginning thus : “ And I saw 
another mighty angel come down from heaven 
clothed with a cloud, ” etc. We have no idea of 
attempting to reproduce this sermon in full ; the 
reader may depend upon it, however, that it was 
a theological curiosity. It was by turns full of 
tenderness and pathos, of the wildest faucies, 
and gross misstatements as to Biblical facts, 
but evidently sincere so far as the speaker was 
concerned. Though crude in expression, the 
speaker was magnetic and eloquent, and he cer- 
tainly had the close and undivided attention of 
his audience. The introduction to the discourse 
will be a fair sample of the whole effort, so we 
will venture to trespass on the reader’s patience 
by giving it here. 

After the announcement of the text, the Rev. 
Mr. Jones proceeded as follows : 

“ My bredren and sisters, dese words were 
writ by blessed Saint John, de belubbed apos- 
tle, an it may be some of you will be intrusted 
to know somefin about de great author of de 
Book of Revelations. When St. John was a 
berry little boy like some of dese little curly, 
headed folks w’at I see before me, he lived wid 
his fader down by de Sea of Gallilee. His fader 
was a fisherman, w’at owned boats an nets an 


THE SILVER BULLET . 


207 


eberyt’ing w’at am necessary for de business. 
Ebery morning de little Saint John would 
’ get up early an go down by de seaside. 
An sometimes w’en he be’n lookin out on de 
water de fust ting he know a great big whale 
jump outen de waves (a wave of the hand and a 
tremendous shout from the amen corner) an he 
holler out to his daddy, ‘ Fader, w’at’s dis I 
see ?’ An his fader say, ‘ Dat am a whale, 
Johnnie. ’ Anoder time the boy see a big 
leviathan jump outen de water an he ax de 
same question, an his fader he make de same 
answer. So you see, my Men’s, how de young 
apostle was bein’ prepared for de great work he 
had to do, an how it was dat in after years he 
was de man dat was de best fit-ten to go to de 
Isle ob Patmos, an have de mighty revelations 
revealed to him, au to see de mighty visions of 
the things w’at must come to pass before de 
Angel spoken of in de tex should stan’ wid one 
foot on de lan’ an cry wid de mighty voice ‘ dat 
time shall be no more.’ ” 

The speaker next made a comparison 
between angels and men. He gave a 
description of an angel’s wearing apparel, in 
which golden crowns, long white robes and 
golden slippers took a conspicuous part. He 


208 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


said their mode of coming from heaven to earth 
was by climbing up and sliding down on the 
rainbow. He then made a comparison between 
a human and an angelic residence. The con- 
trast he drew between the mud^daubed log 
cabins in which his auditors dwelt and the 
“ mansions of the blessed ” excited them to the 
highest pitch. Even Old Sol was aroused to such 
a plane of enthusiasm that he slapped his knees 
vigorously and exclaimed at the top of his 
voice, “ Tell it all to ’em, Brudder Jones, tell it 
all to ’em.” Aunt Patty, who was holding a 
baby in he rarms, swung her bulky person, to and 
fro and crooned rather than shouted, “ Dat’s so, 
dat’s so, dat’s so, dat’s so.” The amen corner 
was all ablaze with glory, but it seemed that 
the aged sisters did not take fire as quickly as 
the men. Aunt Patty observed this and seemed 
to feel somewhat responsible for it. Finding 
that they needed some extra example she waited 
until the preacher made the startling announce- 
ment that the human body contained two hun- 
dred and eighty-nine bones, every one of which 
at the Day of Judgment would be tied to the 
muscles and sinews, and they to the flesh and 
skin and altogether would be taken before the 
awful Judge to be saved together or burned for- 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


209 


ever. The effects of his remarks at the different 
stages of his weird argument was to raise shouts 
of victory or groans of despair. Aunt Patty 
felt that her end of the church was not showing 
the proper amount of zeal and sympathy, and 
as she was looked up to as a leader among her 
sex, she resolved to bring them up to duty. 
Turning to a sister who sat next to her, she 
said : 

“ Here chile, you take dis yere baby, I’ll make 
ole glory hop,” saying, which she sprang to her 
feet and slapped her hands above her head, emit- 
ting the most agonizing shrieks and screams, 
mingled with appeals to the deity and exhorta- 
tions to the sinners. The effect was electrical. 
In the space of one minute not less than fifty 
men and women were on their feet, shouting, 
shrieking, leaping into the air, thrusting their 
hands up as high as they could reach, and giv- 
ing free veut to all the excitement of body and 
mind that they were capable of. The preacher 
ceased his sermon, and springing into the altar 
added to the excitement by calling in the 
loudest and most impassioned tones for mourn- 
ers to come to the altar for prayers. In the 
meantime, the leaping, shrieking, and shouting 
continued until many fell to the floor like dead 


2L0 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


men and women. It was pitiful to hear the 
cries of the mourners, but occasionally one came 
into the light and when that happened it was lik e 
the lightning riving the storm cloud assunder, 
first the flash and then the peal of thunder. So 
with the mourners. When peace came a smile 
would illumine the ebony face, then a shout of 
joy would issue from the lungs and throat. It 
was a great time indeed, looking at it from a 
Negro standpoint, and it* was a strange and 
wonderful time looking at it from any standpoint; 
the only hitch in the flow of enthusiasm and 
enjoyment being when the closing exercises took 
the form of a collection. The preacher, in as- 
cending from the rude altar to the rostrum, 
announced that he would now take up a collec- 
tion. So he started up a hymn and invited the 
people to come forward and lay their contribu- 
tions on a table in front of the preacher. Some- 
how, this part of the exercises did not seem to 
be so popular as the rest. It could not be on 
account of the manner in which the collection 
was taken, for this is the common mode with 
the plantation Negro. Nothing pleases him bet- 
ter than to march up before a large audience 
and place his gift where it can be seen. The 
devotees at Sweet Canaan were not backward 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


211 


in singing and shouting. There was plenty of 
that kind of worship going on while the collect- 
ion was in progress. Either one or two things 
must have been true; money was scarce or the 
enthusiasm did not reach to the pocket book. 
Even the preacher was nonplussed. He could 
hear the shouting going on, but the jingle of 
nicklesand dimes was rather too faint to corre- 
spond with the other demonstrations. Hoping 
to stir them to greater activity he shouted out : 

“ Bredren, we must have dis collection. You 
is ben having a good time here today an’ 
shorely yo’ can do somefin’ fer de treasury. 
Now, I propose dat all of you uns puts in a nickle 
an’ dem wat ’s ben a shouting so much puts a 
quarter.” 

On this, a sudden hush fell on the congrega- 
tion. The shouting was stopped as suddenly 
as if every one had been gagged. Old Sol was 
the only one who responded to the twenty-five 
cent proposition. Leaning on his ivory headed 
staff he solemnly marched up and laid down a 
quarter as the price of his indiscretion. He at 
once got the credit for it, however, for the min- 
ister, in lusty tones, called the attention of all 
to the gift, by saying : 

“ I am dat proud dat 1 doan know what to 


212 


THE SILVER BULLET . 


do, kase dar is one generous, liberal-souled 
brudder here today.” 

A few dimes and nickles made up the sum 
total of the collection and then the audience 
was dismissed. 

True to his promise and inclination, Sol made 
his way to where Aunt Patty and her “ole 
man,” as she called him, were standing. It was 
perhaps the journey of a mile before their cabin 
was reached, but its general appearance on the 
outside betokened good cheer and plenty within. 
Several gaunt looking hounds greeted the com- 
pany with a noisy welcome. A good sized boy 
stood on the porch with a bucket of cool spring 
water that he had drawn from a natural foun- 
tain bubbling near. Sol was conducted to a rus- 
tic chair made of the gnarled roots of trees, but 
so arranged as to make out of them both a 
novel and a very comfortable seat, and Sol 
sank into it with a sigh of satisfaction. He 
knew he was an honored guest and this know- 
ledge was strengthened when little Patty, who 
was a miniature reproduction of her mother, came 
from the spring house with a stone pitcher full 
of cool, refreshing buttermilk. 

“ Dey is sure enough good living ’round dis 
yere cabin,” was the mental ejaculation of old 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


213 


Sol, as he quietly dispossed of two glasses of the 
fluid. Seated in his comfortable chair, in the 
shade, and having a monstrous turkey wing to 
frighten away anything like a too hot 
breath of air, our visitor now had time to look 
about and enjoy the fruits of anticipation, for 
we believe it is still a debatable question as to 
whether one enjoys more in anticipation than 
he does in participation. Aunt Patty's home 
(we call it hers, because she was practically the 
head of the family) was a rude but substantially 
constructed log cabin. It had but one roof, but 
an open hall ran through the center. This was 
utilized, in pleasant weather, as a dining room ; 
a smaller house of logs served as a cook house 
and dining room in cooler weather. On either 
side of the open hall were the sleeping apartments. 
Over the windows grew honeysuckle vines, mak- 
ing a dense and grateful shade. In front of the 
cabin was a flower garden in which the variety of 
rare plants and the artistic arrangement of them 
showed that Aunt Patty, or her old man (per- 
haps both) under the slave regime had been 
raised to habits of neatness and taste. On the 
farther edge of the flower patch were twenty, 
five or thirty hives of bees, a sight which made 
Sol’s eyes shine with a brighter luster of antici- 


214 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


pation, for he dearly loved honey. Two cows 
were in the pasture and half a dozen fat hogs 
were comfortably grunting in the lot. A brood 
of young turkeys and countless chickens were 
roaming about. Besides Aunt Patty’s family 
an old Negro called Uncle Jim and his wife had 
been invited to dinner and they with Sol were 
patiently awaiting the announcement that the 
repast was ready. They were all anxious for 
the summons, but Sol’s previous training led 
him to refrain from expressing his impatience. 
Not so Uncle Jim. When no one but the 
company was present he would turn to his wife 
and snarl: 

“ I wonner whar de vittles is at, ’pears like 
I’se dat hungry I can’t stan’ it.” 

Turning to Uncle Sol he said, “ I hope, Mr. Cal- 
houn, dis yere dinner aintgwine to turn out like 
dat one wat I had ober to Jake Frost’s las’ 
Crismus.” 

“ How was dat?” answered Sol. 

“Hit was jes dis away; Jake, be invite a hull 
passel on us ober to his cabin one day in Cris- 
mus. De neighborhood aint ben on good terms 
wif Jake fer some time afore dis, kase Jake ben 
stealing hogs an’ one of de neighbors had him 
’rested. Dis bring a hull bilin’ of us inter de 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


215 


row as witness, dat we done loss hogs an’ 
speeioned him er fakin’ ’em. Now, dey aint no 
one kin swar on deir oaf dat dey see Jake take 
’em, but he always has de meat in de smoke- 
house an’ he aint never raised no hogs to put 
de meat dare, an’ he aint got no money ner 
credit to buy ’em wif, at least, dey aint no one 
’round dese parts dat low dey ebber sell ’im any 
er see ’im buy any, so cose we jes naturally 
knows he’s a thief, but den we kan’t swar we 
ebber see ’im do it, an’ de konsekenses was de 
Trial Jestice he say he kain’t convict a man on 
dese ’sposin’ tales, an’ he ups and lets Jake go. 
Jake, low he gwine git even wif us fer ’pearin’ 
’gainst ’im an’ dat we haf ter eat crow some day. 
We wus sorter skeered uv ’im an’ wus alius on de 
lookout fer ’im to play sum kinner meanness, but 
w’en he sont me de invite to comean’ makeCris- 
mufi wif ’m an’ say dey aint no use er neigh- 
bors failin’ out all de time, an’ as fur as he wus 
concerned he wus ready to bury de hatchet. 
Cose we all ’lowed dat wus de berry t’ing w’at 
ought to be, an’ we ’cepted de invite, so w’en de 
Crismus days come we went ober to Jake’s 
cabin. W’en de dinner time come I wus plumb 
s’prised at de way dat table wus loaded down 
wif goodies. Dar wus to all ’pearance five er six 


216 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


turkeys, chicken pies and fried chicken, an’ sicb 
like fixin’s, till 1 ’gin to think somebody’s roost 
must a suffered fer our benifit. W’en we got 
down to de eatin’ business, do, hit war de 
toughest pickin’ T ebber see. Dried raw hide aint 
no consekense ter it. Hit looked like hit am 
all right, cooked up brown wid plenty of graby 
on hit, but all de meat doin’s wus dat doggone’ 
tough I like ter yanked de las’ toof outer my mouf 
a chawin’ on it, and the fun of it wus w’en I got 
tired out a chawin’ an’ de dinner wus ober it 
wus de mos’ unsatisfactory Crismus I ebber 
tackled. Jake do make out like hit was power- 
ful, but he wus mighty bizzy a waitin’ on de 
res’. I aint nebber see him eat anything hisself, 
but he wus turribly purlite, an w’en we went 
away he made me an de ole woman dar take a 
loaf er punkin bread (pound cake) all frpsted 
ober wif de whitest and purtiest sugar you eber 
saw, an some slices ob de yallerest cheese, w’at 
look lak gole. Now, w’en we gits home, we 
called de children roun’ ter give um sum er de 
cake, an doggone my skin ef dat cake wusn’t 
nuffin but de plaines’ kine er co’n bread, white- 
washed ober on de outside, an de cheese wus 
nuffin but slices ob de ransomest kine er lie 
soap, an de wust of hit wus dat de nex’ day I 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


217 


done fouii’ out dat Jake had killed half a dozen 
turkey buzzards an roas’ urn, an done made 
some crow pie, an dat de reason why we couldn’t 
bite ner gnaw ’em to pieces. He lowed, he say, 
to make us eat crow, an he fulfill his promise. 
0, he was a bad nigger, dat Jake Frost wus. 
Waugh, make me mad ’nough ter kick myse’f 
w’en I t’ink how he fool us up, kase we dat 
green to trus’ ’im. Hope Aunt Patty aint no 
grudge gin any on us, an play de same game 
Jake did.” 

There is no telling how much damage the 
irate and caustic Jim might have done to Uncle 
Sol’s appetite had he been permitted to con- 
tinue, but just then the smiling face of Aunt 
Patty announced that dinner was ready, “an 
would de gen’lemen please to take seats at de 
table:” Of course the company were not slow 
to respond. In the open passage way was a 
long table covered with a snowy cloth. The table 
was unpainted, and the benches, which served for 
seats, had no backs to recline against, in lieu of 
which, Sol leaned against the side of the passage 
way. There were no fancy articles of furniture 
accompanying this homely banquet, but the 
excessive neatness of everything connected with 
it made a splendid foil to the rude surround- 


218 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


ings. The viands placed upon the board were 
all of a kind dear to a Negro’s heart, and 
palatable to his appetite. We have already 
intimated that Aunt Patty was a good cook, 
and that she was hospitable. The Sunday ser- 
vices were of a character that had called to- 
gether a good many people. She had anticipated 
having to entertain some of them, and accord- 
ingly had made due preparations. Her boast 
to Uncle Sol that she would show him a speci- 
men of Clayton cooking that would be no dis- 
grace, had not been made at haphazard. She 
knew that her larder was already stocked with 
an abundance of well-cooked food. Like a well- 
trained orator, who, though he seems to be 
making an extemporaneous address, has pre- 
viously made the most careful preparation, so 
she had made the most careful and elabbrate 
preparation of food, and knew she had solid and 
substantial arguments to sustain her reputa- 
tion. It was rather late in the season for 
“possum,” but Aunt Patty had, for a number 
of weeks, been fattening one of these peculiar 
animals by a process of her own invention; she 
had cooked it slowly and carefully, and it lay 
on a huge platter, a mountain of fat, roasted 
brown aud crispy, surrounded by sweet pota- 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


219 


toes. Over the top hung half a dozen link 
sausages, whose savory juices streamed down its 
sides and gave it a most delicious flavor. Near 
to this was an immense pile of crackling bread. 
Further along was chicken pie, dishes of cow 
peas, chicken salad, ornamented with hard 
boiled eggs cut in two and standing out on the 
dish like bosses on a buckler, mounds of bis- 
cuits, and pones of -corn bread cooked over the 
ashes, dishes of honey, and pitchers of cool but- 
termilk, boiled ham and hot coffee, whose 
fragrant aroma was as the odors of Eden, and 
last but not least, was an abundance of' cool 
persimmon beer. Such was the vista that came 
under the scope of Sol’s vision when Aunt Patty 
asked him wouldn’t he please say de grace. 
Every head was bowed in reverence as there 
went to heaven on the evening winds this fer- 
vent invocation : 

“0 Lawd, we bress de fer de productions 
ob de air, an ob de sea, an ob de dry lan’, 
shorely de manna has fallen from heaben to 
• our hungry an thirsty bodies.' May we show 
by our actions dat we ’predate dese an all thy 
blessin’s. Amen.” 

It is needless to add that for the next hour 
the deeds of the company about the board were 


220 


THE SILVER BULLET 


a full indication of the appreciation they felt. 
Even Uncle Jim was satiated and fully satisfied. 
At the close of the dinner, with his face shining 
like a jet black shield, old Sol reached his hand 
across the table and said : 

“ Aunt Patty, shake hands wif me; Izeerbliged 
ter gin hit up. Ole Aunt Hannah Calhoun was 
er mighty good cook, but ef she wus here dis 
arternoon, she’d des weep for sadness, kase she 
aint see de day she kin get up no such a dinner 
as dis yere has bin. You des beat her all to 
nuffin, Aunt Patty, an I gib you de praise 
on it/” 

Of course this tribute to her skill made Aunt 
Patty very proud and happy, and for long 
afterwards it gave her something to boast of. 
Sol now took leave of his hospitable friends, 
after many protestations of thankfulness for 
the courtesies shown him, and many invitations 
to be sure and call again, should he ever come 
that way. Sol turned his face towards Caesar’s 
Head, and many times ere he reached his desti- 
nation he rubbed his hands up and down over • 
his waistcoat, and one who was near enough to 
him, might have heard him saying, softly to 
himself : “ If dere is anyt’ing I does enjoy it is a 
good, hearty dinner.” 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


221 


Camp was reached at last. The Sabbath day 
on the mountains was ended. Under the white 
tent the campers wrapped their blankets about 
them and soon passed into the slumber land. 
The curtain of night came down and blotted 
out all distinctions for a time, for only the eye 
of God kept the vigils of the night. 

The Silver Bullet. 

The Caesar’s Head campers awoke on Monday 
morning refreshed and invigorated, with one ex- 
ception, that was the cook. He complained of 
feeling a little dull and sluggish. Old as he was, 
his plantation philosophy did not include the 
idea “ that moderation in all action is the safest 
rule of human life.” He had yet to learn the 
most important lesson, “ That he who keeps as 
nearly to a level in thought, word and deed, has 
found out the true secret of right and happy 
living.” One extreme is pretty sure to follow 
another. If today we are on the mountain top, 
tomorrow we descend into the valley. Excessive 
joy brings corresponding despondency ; famine 
follows wastefulness; pain follows gluttony. 
On the strength of Uncle Sol’s experience we 
give this advice to all, free gratis. As you start 
on the journey first seek a high plane, then press 


222 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


forward on that level. Sol justified his feelings 
in these words : 

“ I specks I eat too much to enjoy the after- 
math today, but all de same I had de bulliest 
kin’ of a dinner yesterday, an I ’joyed an A-one 
meeting at de .church.” 

Tom Carter, who had been listening to Sol’s 
account of how he had spent the Sabbath, said : 

“ Look here, you simple-minded old African, 
what you call your good time was nothing 
more nor less than a spiritual spree. When a 
man drinks corn liquor they call it drunk; you 
were simbly drunk on excitement.” 

“I don’t care what yon white folks calls it, 
Tom,” said Sol, in reply, “de Bible calls it de 
water of life, and it say it make a man feel so 
good, he leap fer joy. Tell you wat it am, 
Tommy, you don’t know w’at true religion is, 
kaseyou aint got any. De old African’s advice to 
you is to git some er dis yere Gospel lik us, den 
you know how it be yerse’f.” 

This sally raised a shout of laughter at Tom’s 
expense, while Sol chuckled and grinned, and 
muttered to himself : 

“Tom berry sharp boy, sometimes, but 
’pears like it take him long time to learn not 


THE SILVER BULLET. 223 

to put he finger on de red hot stove, if he doan 
wan ter git burn’.’* 

This conversation took place during the 
breakfast hour. Having finished that repast 
the boys began to plan for the day’s enjoyment. 
According to the new rule laid down by the 
Captain, they were to go in companies of two. 
Just as they were about to start out, the clatter 
of hoofs was heard coming up the jnouutaiu 
road, and soon a Negro boy, mounted on a 
mule came in view. He rode into camp, made 
inquiries for Mr. DeRoque, and, having found 
that gentleman, handed him a note. The sur- 
prised Captain opened the missive, which was 
addressed in a neat female hand, and read as 
follows : 

“Pleasant Valley Castle. 

“Captain DeRoque, 

“Dear Sir: My dear father, whom you 
met in his sick chamber last Saturday, was sud- 
denly taken worse last night. We are very much 
alarmed about him*, and he, himself, though in 
a cheerful state of mind, fully realizes the 
gravity of his condition. During the night he 
almost broke my heart by calling me to him 
and saying he believed the end was not far off, 
and heVanted me to be brave for his sake. He 


224 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


seems very anxious, my dear sir, to see you, 
and, at his request, I have seut the messenger, 
who will deliver this to you. Please come if you 
can, as my dear, suffering father seems to have 
something of importance on his mind that he 
wishes to communicate to you. He told me to 
say to you that ‘a craftsman needs the counsels 
of a brother whose words will be thrice welcome 
in this hour of his need/ As he seems confi- 
dent that you will heed the summons for his 
sake, I wait with patience the coming of one 
who can be of any service to him, 

“ I remain sadly and sincerely yours, 

“ Minette Reneau/’ 

“ Boys,” said the Captain hurriedly, “ our 
friends at Pleasant Castle are in deep trouble 
and it may be that Mr. Reneau will fall by the 
hand of death. He requests my immediate pres- 
ence, and the call comes in such a way that I 
cannot refuse. Do you all start as you have 
planned. Dick Griswold, as you were not of the 
party on last Saturday, you may accompany 
me. You are a Christ ain boy and your presence 
and words of faith will be a comfort and bless- 
ing to the poor girl who may possibly lose the 
best friend she has on earth.” Then giving full 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


225 


directions as to the management of affairs at 
the camp in case" he did not return that night, 
the Captain and Dick started for Pleasant Val- 
ley Castle. In the course of time they reached 
their destination. On the porch stood Minette, 
waiting their coming. The beautiful girl was 
making an effort to be brave, but anxiety was 
depicted on every feature of her fair young face. 

“Oh, Captain DeRoque,” she said as she took 
his hand, “ how glad I am to see you ! My father 
is a little better, but it has been so lonely and 
dreadful without some man to whom we could 
look for courage and help. You can never know 
how great a burden you have lifted from my 
Aunties and myself by coming.” 

“ Then I, too, am thankful, young friend,” said 
the Captain, “ and I assure you of my sympathy 
and willingness to do all in my power to aid 
you. But let me introduce my young comrade, 
who was not with our party on our former 
visit. This is Master Dick Griswold, Miss 
Minette. You have heard us tell of his being lost 
on the mountain last week. I am sure you will 
find in him a congenial and helpful friend.” 

The youthful couple clasped hands and looked 
into each others’ eyes, and each felt a strange, 
magnetic thrill pass over them. They were too 


226 


THE S1L VER B ULLET. 


young and inexperienced in the world to know 
or have any serious thought of the passion that 
older people call love, but there came into the 
mind of the girl this conviction, “ This is the 
mobleskboy I have ever seen. .1 can honor and 
trust him, he will be a true friend to tne.” From 
that moment he was her “ ideal ” and “ hero.” 
Into the mind of the boy came the thought, 
“ This is the fairest and purest being I ever be- 
held ; how can I prove myself worthy of her con- 
fidence and friendship.” 

The dear God and Father of us all, when He 
lays His afflicting hand upon us, and removes 
some loved object of our affection, does not blot 
out the old remembrance, for it is not the na- 
ture of God, or of man, to relinquish the hold 
on any worthy object of our love, but if we are 
loyal to Him, He gives us other blessings that 
life may not be a waste and desert place. He 
also gives us as blessings . to others, and thus 
makes the desert to bloom and blossom as the 
rose. The old memories and affections are not 
dimmed by the lapse of years, while the new 
experiences and affections come to us as fresh 
fountains of living waters, to make our lives 
well rounded out and beautiful as we ripen for 
the grave, and the better life beyond this tran- 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


227 


sient world. It was as if God had said to Min- 
ette, “ In the friendship of this noble boy I give 
unto thee a blessing in place of the sword of 
sorrow that shall soon pierce thy heart and dim 
thine eyes with tears.” 

Mr. DeRoque left the youthful pair in the hall 
together, and accompanied by one of the aged 
sisters made his way to the chamber of the sick 
man. As on the former occasion, he found him 
in a reclining chair. The invalid reached out a 
thin hand, and gave the Captain a smile of wel- 
come. 

“You did not fail me,” he said. “I wanted 
to see you and speak to you about some mat- 
ters of importance to myself, and I thank you 
for your ready response.” 

The Captain assured him he was only too 
happy to be of any service, and that he could 
command him at will. After requesting his sis- 
ter to retire, the visitor was invited to be 
seated. He now had a good opportunity to 
look the sick man over, and he noticed with 
some surprise, %hat had before escaped his ob- 
servation, that the invalid had an abnormal 
protrusion on the back of his neck. Apparently, 
it was a large wen, but was scarred and marred 
as if at some time an attempt had been made 


228 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


to remove it. He noticed too, that the head 
was bent slightly forward, a habit, he fancied, 
that had been formed by the excresence coming 
in contact with his wearing apparel. The 
head of the man before him, however, showed 
intellectual power and force, and there was that 
expression on the face that told of a pure life 
and habits. The frame was emaciated, and 
showed evidence of a severe struggle with disease, 
and that disease had gained the mastery. The 
eyes were keen and piercing, but kind and 
friendly. Of course all this observation was 
taken in at a glance, and the Captain was fully 
aware that while he was studying the sick man, 
he himself was the subject of the most careful 
scrutiny. The ordeal of criticism was evidently 
to their mutual satisfaction. 

“ Mr. DeRoque,” again said the invalid, “ I 
am a very sick man. On that fact I need not 
dwell, for the testimony of your own eyes will 
readily confirm that statement. I will go 
further, however, and say that I am sick unto 
death. My malady is of such ^ character that 
I know full well from the turn it took last night, 
the end, at the farthest, connot bo far off. I 
know, too, from its nature, that when the crisis 
comes, dissolution will quickly and quietly fol- 


LEE SILVER BVLLET. 


229 


low. If you marvel at my quietness and com- 
posure under these facts, let me assure you that 
I have long been familiar with them, and am 
not taken by surprise. I trust my peace is 
made with God, to whom alone, I shall be ac- 
countable in that hour when the change shall 
take place. I believe in another and a better 
life in that untried country to which my spirit 
shall take its flight. The mystic tie that has 
made you and I brethren and friends teaches us 
that there is atiother life. But I lean on even a 
stronger prop than that. My faith in Jesus 
Christ, the first fruits of the Resurrection, that 
His death has atoned for my sins, and that 
through Him I am reconciled to God the Father 
by the Holy Spirit, brings me perfect peace in 
view of the fact that I am soon to change 
worlds. No, no, it was not from anxiety about 
the future that I have sent for you. It is my 
wish to die in the mountains, but I have a mis- 
sion to commit to your charge, the nature of 
which I will explain to you. The work I have 
for you to accomplish must not be begun until 
my decease. And as I shall have made every pro- 
vision for you to successfully do the task, either 
in person or by other means, I think that by 
the common bond of fraternal regard we have 


230 


THE ST EVER BULLET. 


for each other, you will, if possible, carry out 
my wishes. If you will listen with patience, and 
my strength will hold out, I will tell you a 
strange story. As I have already informed you, 
my name is Francis Reneau. As you will recog- 
nize at once, it is of French origin. My an- 
cestors were all Frenchmen in the strictest sense 
of the word, though for centuries they have 
been dwellers of and upon the American Con- 
tinent. Among that colony who were sent out 
from France, in 1562, by my celebrated coun- 
tryman, the Admiral Coligny, was a Mr. Reneau, 
to whom I trace my family in a direct line. 
This man was one of the characters in the story 
that I am about to relate. I take it for granted, 
that you are acquainted, somewhat, with his- 
tory, and must be aware that the sixteenth cen- 
tury was a period of troublesome times for 
‘ Sunny France,’ especially with reference to the 
religious movements of those days. Martin 
Luther had previously started the great Refor- 
mation in Germany. It had extended to France, 
and had divided that country into two parties, 
known as the Reformers, or Protestants and 
Huguenots, and the old Mother Church, the 
Roman Catholic. In France, especially, the con- 
test between the contending factions was ex- 


iEB & 1LVLR L TJLLLT. 


231 


ceedingly fierce and bitter. It divided com- 
munities and families. This division entered all 
grades of society, from the nobility to the peas- 
ant, from the palace to the hovel. Standing on 
the summit of three centuries, and looking down 
on those terrible days, one can afford to be 
charitable in his criticisms of the participants. 
Unquestionably, both factions were to blame. 
One deed, however, places the brand of Cain on 
the Roman Catholic Church of that day. I re- 
fer to the horrible, treacherous massacre of 
Saint Bartholomew’s day. It is true that the 
’ heartless, malicious Queen Mother Catherine De- 
Medici was the prime mover and mainspring of 
this awful crime against humanity. But Ro- 
man Catholics were her willing instruments in 
its execution. The Pope of Rome endorsed the 
deed, aud the so-called Representative of Christ 
on earth proclaimed ithe instigators of it, Charles 
IX and Catherine DeMedici, the special favorites 
of God. It is safe to say of any movement 
which seeks to build its edifice on the blood and 
slain bodies of the innocent and helpless, it is 
wrong. But as I have said, we must look upon 
the events of those dark days with a good deal 
of charity and allowance. Some of the so-called 
Protestants of those times might have been 


232 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


guilty of the same deed had they been in the 
majority instead of the minority, and we know 
there is not much consistency in the ‘crow call- 
ing the blackbird black.’ My ancestors were 
among the nobility. At that time the family 
consisted of two brothers, who had inherited 
the paternal and maternal estates, which were 
quite extensive. The eldest of the two brothers 
held to the Roman Church, and gave his sym- 
pathy to, and drew his sword in defence of the 
government and policy of the Charles IX, 
as directed by the fiendish Catherine. The 
younger brother, of whom I am a descendant, 
espoused the cause of the Huguenots, and 
eventually fought in the army and followed the 
plumed helmet of Henry of Navarre (afterwards 
Henry IV of France). The castle and estates 
of the Reneau family were situated not far from 
the City of Lyons. The castle was on an em- 
inence, and built of rock. At the time it was 
built it was considered an impregnable Gibral- 
ter. It was surrounded on three sides by a deep 
moat, the other side overhanging a steep cliff 
that ran abruptly down to the river’s edge. This 
cliff could only be scaled by letting down rope 
ladders from the castle wall to boats on the 
river. But, as in times of danger, the watchman 


THE SILVER BULLET 


233 


in the tower had a full view of the riverside ap- 
proach, no danger was ever feared or looked for 
from that side. Within, the Castle was fitted 
up to suit the conditions of the times. The 
lord of the castle was a most important per- 
sonage. The feudal system was still in vogue, 
to a certain extent, each castle being the center 
of vast estates, having its accompaniments of 
vassals, retainers, and parasites. Consequently, 
its interior arrangements were planned to ac- 
commodate the different grades that assembled 
within its walls, especially when the spirit of 
war was in the atmosphere. There were great 
halls, numerous sleeping apartments, an arm- 
ory, dungeons, etc. The Reneau Castle con- 
tained one apartment which was a type of 
similar ones found in all the ancient residences 
of the nobles of France. It was called the 
‘ Judgment Hall.’ Here the prisoners were 
tried who were captured in the little, petty wars 
that were continually being waged by neighbor 
against neighbor. Those were days of cruelty 
and barbarous warfare. Human life was held 
of little value by those who had the ‘disposal of 
it, and the most ingenious contrivances were 
invented to torture and slay men. The following 
will give an illustration of this statement : In 


234 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


the center of the Judgment Hall in Reneau Cas- 
tle was an oriental rug, some twelve feet square. 
It was the custom, when criminals or malefac- 
tors were brought into the place for trial, for 
them to be led, bound, to the center of the rug, 
and there remain until sentence was passed upon 
them, when they were led away to some dun- 
geon beneath the castle, or to whatever mode 
of puuishment the judge had ordered meted out 
to them, in case the crime was not of a character 
whose penalty was death. There was one crime, 
however, the sentence and execution of which 
was always secret. That crime was treason to 
the honor and fortunes of the house. When a 
criminal of this kind was brought before the tri- 
bunal, the usual audience was dismissed, and if 
they never saw the culprit again, they knew he 
had been found guilty. The secret of the mode 
of his execution was known to only a few 7 . The 
fact of it was, however, the culprit never left the 
Judgment Hall by the way he came in, but, just 
the same, he met with a swift and certain destruc- 
tion. The Reueau Castle is now a mass of ruins, 
but he who 'examines the ruins carefully, will 
find the solution of some of the secrets of those 
old days. In the center of the spot where ouce 
was the Judgment Hall, can now be seen a deep, 


THE SILVER BULLET . 


235 


wide well, liewn out of ‘the solid rock. This 
aperture in the rocky cliff is seventy-five or 
eighty feet in depth, and eighteen feet in 
diameter. Less than twenty-five years ago, in 
examining the spot, I had myself lowered into 
this well, and found there the ghastly evidences 
for what it was made and used. When I tell 
you that I found the floor covered, for several 
feet in depth, with human bones, antique armor 
(some of which you saw in the hallway below) 
quaint old poniards and stilettos, and such 
articles as one has about the person and wear- 
ing apparel, you will infer at once that the 
oriental mat in the Judgment Hall was the 
covering for a trap door on which the criminals 
stood. It was held by a spring, and at a signal 
from the judge the trap was sprung, hurling the 
victim to certain death on the rocky floor below. 
If, by chance, the fall did not kill him, he was 
left mangled and bruised to die of neglect, star- 
vation and thirst. There cau be no doubt that 
many a Huguenot met his fate, and sealed with 
his death the faith he espoused in the endeavor 
to reform the abuses and vices that had crept 
into the church which recognized Rome as its 
head. Besides this death trap were the dungeons 
which honeycombed the rocky cliff on which the 


236 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


castle stood. Many of these underground 
apartments were known only to the lord of the 
fortress, who kept a plan of them in his posses, 
sion, and to the jailor, to whom the keys and 
the secret of their existence was - committed. 
Frequently prisoners were confined in these 
gloomy recesses for years, the knowledge of 
their existence being known to only one or two 
persons. Oftentimes they were thrust into these 
caverns with the express intention of compelling 
them to meet death by slow starvation. 

“You will notice that I have been careful to 
give a description of Reneau Castle and its en- 
vironments. I have a motive for doing this, 
which will be made apparent further on, and it 
is necessary for a full understanding of the 
business I am to commit to your charge that 
you should be in possession of all the links of 
the chains that make up the strange story. 

“ The two brothers to whom I have referred 
were named Henry and Francis. Henry, being 
the eldest, Reneau Castle descended to him. 
The father of these brothers, just before his 
death, called both of his sons to him separately, 
and explained to them what his wishes were 
concerning their future conduct and career on 
earth. In his own mmd was a clear forecast 


THE SILVER BULLET. 237 

of the great disruption that was even then be- 
ginning to disturb the peace of nations. Know- 
ing that his eldest born was self-willed, and of 
narrow mind and sympathies, he counselled 
him to stand aloof from the religious contro- 
versalists, who were sowing strife and dissen- 
sion broadcast over the land. 

“My son,” he said, “take no part in these 
unseemly contests. I know your affections are 
all for the Mother Church in which you have 
been raised, and whose worship and associa- 
tions yon have been taught to revere and 
honor. You must remember, however, that her 
priests and ministers do not all exemplify the 
doctrines of the Holy Church in their lives and 
conduct. Some of our best and most loyal sub- 
jects of the King have lost faith in the policy of 
the Church and believe that reforms must come, 
or the Church polity will soon be a rope of sand 
that shall crumble and fall to pieces. On the 
other hand the most ardent adherents of the 
Church look upon the would-be reformers as mal- 
contents, who, because they cannot rule, would 
ruin. They regard them as instruments in the 
hands of Satan, and enemies of God and His 
Church, who should be put down and crushed 
out. I, my son, believe that the fittest will sur- 


238 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


vive. God cares for His own. Let discussions 
goon. Let evil be condemned. Let the truth be 
exalted, but let good men everywhere divest 
themselves of malice and clothe themselves with 
charity. Above all let no man’s hand be raised 
against his fellow because of his religious con- 
victions. The conflict between truth and error 
should be waged with the mind and heart, and 
not with the sword and spear. On all proper 
occasions use such persuasive words and argu- 
ments as you may be able to command to bring 
men to your idea of what is right, then leave 
the matter to the judgment and conscience of 
the individual, to be settled between him and his 
God. I give this counsel to you because I know 
your impetuous nature, and how hard it is for 
you to brook opposition. Having now given 
this .wise and timely advice concerning his course 
in religious matters, the father spoke to him of 
the possessions in lands and valuables to which 
he would fall heir, gave him the plan of the cas- 
tle, showing the intricate underground labyrinth 
of dungeons and cells, the wine-vaults, and the 
apartments containing store supplies, etc. The 
keys to the armory and treasure room were also 
committed to him. Having now given his coun- 
sel he also added his blessing and dismissed him. 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


239 


“ The younger son, Francis, was now called in. 
The father addressed him in much the same man- 
ner as he had the eldest boy, counseling him 
against yielding too much to the turbulent spirit 
of the times. He knew the boy to be of alto- 
gether a different spirit and character from his 
brother. He well knew that the open, generous 
nature of Francis was free from guile, and that 
in the great controversy going on the side that 
stood most for truth and purity of life would be 
sure to find in him a sturdy adherent. So that 
one was pure and honorable in his actions it 
mattered little to him under what church banner 
he allied himself, and the father fancied that when 
the time came when men' must define their posi- 
tion his youngest born would take sides with the 
Reformers, and of course in those days, as at 
present, reform meant to form anew. This being 
the case the sons would be sure to drift apart, 
and perhaps become mortal enemies. The posi- 
tion and possessions of the eldest would give 
him an advantage over the younger were he dis- 
posed to use it to his harm, and so when he 
revealed to him what portion of the estate would 
fall to his lot, as in the case of the eldest son, he 
gave him a duplicate plan of the castle and the 
dungeons un&erneath, and he also gave to him 


240 


THE SILVER BULLET 


what he had not given to Henry, and that was 
an addition to the plan. This addition showed 
there were secret passageways and panels con- 
nected with the apartments in the castle and the 
dungeons underneath, by which one might enter 
or retire unseen, or make his escape from the 
dungeons should he so desire. 

“ And,” said the sick man to Captain DeRoque, 
by way of parenthesis, “ these secret passages 
are said to have been constructed by the ancient 
craftsmen of our ‘.mystic tie/ who wrought on 
so many of the great cathedrals and castles of 
the middle ages, with the same skill they ex- 
hibited at the building of the famous Temple at 
Jerusalem. 

“To return to my story, the father again 
admonished the boy that there were trouble- 
some times ahead, and, as Henry would have 
the greater portion of the wealth of the estates, 
to him, Francis, he would leave .the secrets of 
the castle, and he adjured him to guard them 
sacredly, and to reveal them to no one unless 
he was obliged to for his own personal safety, 
and even then to exercise the utmost care in 
selecting trustworthy confidants to share the 
secrets with him. Above all, to keep them from his 
brother. He then gave to Fi ancis the key to the 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


241 


innermost apartments of the labyrinth rooms 
that were hewn out of the solid rock, and whose 
existence would remain unrevealed though the 
castle were blown to atoms and its foundations 
ground to powder. The key was made of silver, 
and the peculiarity of it was that its shape was 
that of around ball or bullet. In size it was an 
inch in diameter, and it was constructed it two 
parts, and was hollow, the two sections screwing 
together. Unscrewing the ball, the father placed 
within it the addition to the castle plans, of 
which we have spoken, and which were written 
on thin parchment. He then commended it to 
the care of Francis. As the boy took the silver 
bullet he recognized it as an object of familiar 
interest which he had often seen before, but to 
which was attached quite another mission than 
it really filled. It had been in his father’s pos- 
session ever since he could remember, and was 
known to all the inmates of Reneau Castle as 
the old witch bullet. In those days superstition 
was rife. Demons and witches were fully be- 
lieved in by most people. In the Reneau family 
traditions it had been told to each successive 
generation that witches could be destroyed by 
shooting at them with a silver bullet, and that 
this particular bullet, of which I speak, had 


242 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


performed its office work on more than one oc- 
casion. Hence the immunity from the visita- 
tions from the dreadful beings which the family 
had enjoyed. Francis himself had heard these 
tales, and had fully believed them, and this 
same bullet had been as great a charm and 
talisman to him as the famous seal of King 
Solomon’s was to the mythical characters in 
the story of the Arabian Nights entertainment. 
But he saw now that the old tales that filled his 
boyhood mind with half fear and half wonder, 
had been fostered and kept alive for a purpose, 
and that purpose was to hide the true utility of 
the silver sphere. The directions for using it as 
a key were given on the parchment alluded to. 
According to that guide he was to proceed to a 
certain spot on the outside of the castle. Here 
he would find himself before the wall of a per- 
pendicular cliff, reaching up some eight feet from 
the base he would. find a narrow shelf not more 
than ten inches broad ; on the surface of this 
shelf and protected by the overhanging cliff 
above it was a flat stone. On removing it a 
round hole about two inches in diameter was 
disclosed. Into this hole the silver bullet must be 
dropped. It must then be pressed downward by 
means of a round staff. This pressure sent it 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


243 


into a socket made to receive it. The shock 
sent out at the base of the cliff about eight 
inches of the end of a steel lever, enough to get a 
good hand hold. A strong pull upon it loosened 
a section of the cliff weighing a ton set upon 
pivots so as to be easily balanced and easily 
moved when the right means were adopted to 
displace it. This was the mode of entering from 
the outside. From the inside the means of 
egress were simple and plain enough. Having 
once entered the matrix of the cliff, the intruder, 
by means of secret and hidden passages and 
panels, could enter at will any important apart- 
ment of the castle. To Francis this knowledge 
was invaluable, and in after years as the sequel 
will show, he put it to good use. Having given 
his blessing and expressed his desires concerning 
his boys, the old man in a few weeks quietly and 
peaceably passed away from earthly scenes. 
His son Henry succeeded to his title and the 
mass of his wealth, including the castle. As 
Henry was already married and had a numer- 
ous progeny, the possibility of the younger son 
ever becoming possessor of the homestead was 
out of the question. He knew that there was no 
ready-made title, honor or reputation for 
him to adorn himself with as he might a 


244 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


suit of clothing. Whatever of fame, fortune 
or worth he was to possess in the fu- 
ture would come to him by his own efforts. 
It was fortunate for Francis that he knew be- 
fore hand just what his position at the death of 
his father would be. Though not as well provided 
for as his brother, he had what most men would 
consider an abundance of wealth. He would 
not be obliged to practice . rigid economy, and 
as he had good health, a good education for 
those times, and a brave, manly spirit, he 
looked to the future with courage and hope. It 
did not take long for events to prove the pro- 
phecy of the father concerning the troublesome 
times true. Unhappy Francies was realizing 
the truth of the words of Holy Writ, ‘ When the 
wicked rule the nations mourn.’ The scheming 
Catherine DeMedici had succeeded in fomenting 
strife among the people without the slighest 
particle of real religion in her own h&art, under 
pretense of zeal for the Roman Catholic Church, 
She won the sympathy of that larger and more 
powerful ecclesiastical body and bent them to 
her will, using them as blinded zealots and will- 
ing instruments in perpetrating a deed, the 
recital or reading of which brings a shock of 
horror to the heart of every civilized person 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


245 


who becomes acquainted with the details of the 
awful, unwarranted, inhuman massacre of Saint 
Bartholomews’ day. The brutish cannibal of 
the South Sea Islands, or his prototype in the 
jungles of Africa, who, not only slay in the most 
cruel manner, and afterwards eat the victims of 
their ferocity, the savage Indian warrior on 
the western plains of the American Continent, 
whose hellish ingenuity invents the most exquis- 
ite and painful methods of suffering and torture, 
would stand abashed in the presence of these 
cultivated religious executioners. It did not 
take a long period of time to decide that either 
the Catholics or Protestants of France would 
have to yield. Neither did it take a long time to 
decide that neither would yield if they could 
possibly help it. A petty warfare was, waged 
for years. It soon became evident that the 
Protestants would be subject to all kinds of an- 
noyances. Some suffered death and persecu- 
tion, others were disowned and cast out by their 
own kindred and the only hope for a peaceful 
existence for many was to leave the land of 
their birth and seek a refuge in a less malicious 
Catholic nation or among a people of their own 
faith. The discovery of the Western Hemisphere 
scarcely a half a century before, opened up an 


246 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


asylum for the persecuted and. oppressed, and 
many were the eyes that were turned in this 
direction for the longed for relief. 

“ We have before intimated that the Brothers 
Reneau were not in sympathy in their religious 
views. The progress of time made them stronger 
adherents, each to his own faith. Francis be- 
came a Protestant solely in the interests of re- 
ligious liberty and purity of life. Henry re- 
mained a Catholic because, to the eye of his 
faith, that was the only true Church, and the 
only way to reach the truth was through its 
portals. He joined in the persecutions against 
Protestants because they were heretics, and as 
such, enemies to the true Church, and being her 
foes he believed they would be untrue to the 
Government of France, and consequently they 
should be exterminated or expelled from 
the land. It came to pass, therefore, that the 
two brothers arrayed themselves on opposite 
sides. It was, undoubtedly, a matter of regret 
to each, and it is a credit to each, that amid 
these stormy events neither did the other per- 
sonal harm, and, as far as possible, each pro- 
tected the other’s personal interests. 

“It was during the year 1561, Francis was 
spending a few days with his brother at the 


THE SILVER BULLET 


247 


castle, when he became possessed of the know- 
ledge that an attack would be made on the an- 
cestral home by a company of his own adher- 
ents. This knowledge did not come to him as 
secret information, but was boldly proclaimed 
without the walls by a herald who had been 
sent for that purpose. The brothers, who 
would not be unfriendly to each other for their 
fathers’ sake, counselled together about the 
premeditated attack, Henry deciding that he 
was ready to receive it and Francis giving hjm 
what advice he thought necessary. Among other 
things, he advised him to move, carefully, his 
treasure, as in event of the castle being taken, 
he might, at least, save from the hand of the 
invader the most valuable part of his posses- 
sions. He then told him that if he would trust 
to his brotherly honor he, himself, would act as 
his treasurer and would account to him person- 
ally for the valuables placed in his care. So the 
jewels, plate and treasure that made up the 
principal wealth of this old family was secretly 
moved by the younger, the elder consenting, 
for, as he remarked, no one could tell what the 
fortunes of war would bring forth. They, also, 
made a compact that in case either one was 
slain he was to have about his person papers 


248 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


which would reveal to the other what disposi- 
tion was to be made of his body and property. 
Francis was to reveal to his brother, should 
Henry survive him, the location of the hidden 
treasure. In case the troublesome times should 
pass by and peace once more brood over the 
land and both should survive to see the happy 
day, then the brothers could meet and make a 
personal adjustment of their affairs. 

“In due course of time a party of Protestants 
made their appearance before the Castle and 
demanded its surrender, which demand was 
promptly refused, upon which the invaders laid 
seige to it and sought by every possible means 
to scale its walls and entice its inmates to an 
open conflict. Day after day passed by, attacks 
were made and as often repulsed. As the garri- 
son within were well supplied with food for sev- 
eral months, and as they considered the Castle 
impregnable, they did little more than have the 
guards watch the different attempts to gain 
admittance by the enemy. A few moments 
warning sufficed to bring the entire garrison to 
any given point to beat back the assailants. 
At last, after a fortnight of useless effort, the lar- 
ger part of the invaders apparently broke camp 
and departed, leaving only a small company to 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


249 


watch the drawbridge and entrances to the 
stronghold. Those within were highly elated 
at this move, and now believed that if they 
could continue the state of affairs as they were 
for another fortnight they could send w^ord to 
their friends and enough of them would respond 
to drive away the foe. But in reasoning thus, 
they were very far from the truth in their esti- 
mate of the real condition of things. It was 
true that the Protestants had moved the larger 
part of their forces from the seat of battle, 
but they had halted not more than a mile awmy, 
where they had again gone into camp. In the 
meantime under the cover of the darkness of 
early morning a large squad of men marched to 
a knoll near the camp outside the Castle walls 
and worked all day in digging an underground 
trench that should reach within a few feet of the 
end of the drawbridge. While some dug into the 
earth others carried the debris and dirt out back 
of the knoll, and others made the tunnel secure 
by placing in props and supports to keep it from 
caving in. So quietly and skillfully was all this 
accomplished that the end near the drawbridge 
was so arranged that an opening twelve feet 
square could be made in an instant and all this 
without attracting the attention of the castle 


250 


THE SILVER BULLETS 


guards, who had no idea of the work going on 
under their very eyes. It was the plan of the 
invaders to now assume a very careless and in- 
different attitude. The guards they usually set 
to watch the movements within the castle seem- 
ingly relaxed their vigilance, they played at 
games with each other, wrestled and boxed, en- 
gaged in jumping matches, and threw their 
weapons aside while these sports were going on, 
and acted in every way as if they had no ap- 
prehension of any danger from the garrison. 
This state of affairs continuing for some two 
days, those pent up within the walls began to 
get restless over the inactivity and were anxious 
to make some movement. They begged Henry 
to make a sally across the draw bridge and cap- 
ture the small company on the outside. At first 
the commandant would not listen to the pro- 
posal, but as his followers argued that in case 
the enemy had reinforcements near the charge 
could be made so quickly as well as unexpectedly 
they could capture the camp and its supplies 
before help could come to assist them, and hav- 
ing done that they could retreat into their 
stronghold again with all the booty and glory 
of victory. The chieftain, who had never been 
in a battle before, being flattered by these repre- 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


251 


sentations of an easy conquest, at last consented 
to the plan, made all the necessary arrange- 
ments and gave the word of command for the 
drawbridge to be lowered. As quick as might 
be, down fell the hugh platform of wood and 
iron, and with drawn blades, across it rushed 
knight and squire and henchman. Henry- was 
in the van. So eager and so sure were they of 
success that even the men who had been charged 
with the duty of remaining in the rear to guard 
the drawbridge rushed on behind the troops so 
as to get in some vantage spot where they could 
see the fray. Little recked they of the cunning 
trap into which they were drawn. In a moment, 
as if by the magic of some enchanter’s wand, 
before, behind, and all around, like that fabled 
army of men who sprang up from the sown 
dragon’s teetlt, so rushed the invaders from the 
concealed trench and from behind the friendly 
knoll, and surrounded the doomed men who had 
rushed forth to meet dest ruction where they had 
fondly hoped to achieve glorious victory. War 
at best is a dreadful thing, and in those old days 
when men fought hand to hand it was more 
frightful than at present. Courage mingled with 
fierce anger, hatred, and desire for revenge 
spiced the strife and made it more hot and 


252 


THE SILVER BULLET 


demoniacal. Part of thefoeman rushed across 
the unguarded drawbridge and took possession 
of the castle gate, thus practically conquering 
that fortress; the others drew their lines 
closer about their prey, who stubbornly con- 
tested every inch of ground. The .cry of “ no 
quarter” was raised. None was given, none 
expected. The contest was too unequal to last 
long. The little band who had rushed out so ex- 
pectantly had rushed to the death. The clash- 
ing of sabers grew fainter and the shouts of 
combatants were all of one class. In the hottest 
part of the fray Henry stood, fought, and 
cheered on his men, when a blow from a sword 
felled him to the earth, and half a score of 
spears pierced him through and through. The 
victory was on the side of the assailants. Hav- 
ing completed their bloody work they now 
rushed into the castle in search of booty, ran- 
sacking every room and nook and corner in 
search of plunder, laying hands on everything 
valuable, and destroying what they could not 
carry off with them. The women and children 
they left unmolested, and thus it fell out that 
after the besiegers had done their work of de- 
struction the widow of the fallen leader, with 
such servants as she could assemble, went over 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


253 


the sanguinary field of battle, found the dead 
body of her liege, and, having made such suit- 
able preparations as were possible and neces- 
sary for the burial, consigned it to the grave. 
Previous to this, however, the body had been 
searched, and among other things found upon 
it, was a paper, which stated the fact that the 
most valuable treasures had been confided to 
his brother’s care, and that in case of his de- 
mise, it was his desire that his brother Francis 
should possess the Castle. The widow kept this 
paper a secret until the conquerors had de- 
parted from that locality, an event which took 
place immediately, for the Catholics, having 
heard of the assault on the Reneau stronghold, 
were hurrying to its rescue. In the meantime, 
where was Francis, while all this turmoil was in 
progress? He had known of the conflict that 
was about to take place and had it been in any 
other locality save that of the ancestral home, 
his sword would have been drawn on the side 
of the Protestant forces, but he could not and 
would not be instrumental or accessory to the 
spoliation of his own brother’s home or fortune, 
so he took himself away from the scene of strife. 
He was helpless to prevent it and all he could 
do was to stand aloof until it was over. Iil a 


254 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


short time the Castle was again habitable, 
and as before, a garrison occupied it with the 
widow of Henry and her kindred. As soon as he 
could do so, Francis made his way to the place 
for the purpose of doing his duty by his broth- 
er’s family. No sooner had he made himself 
known to the guards at the gate than they 
arrested him and incarcerated him in one of the 
dungeons. He could easily have made his 
escape, but he wished to see his brother’s widow 
and confer with her as to Henry’s wishes as to 
the disposition of his treasures, for he was satis- 
fied that Henry, as well as himself, would leave 
directions, in some form, as to his last wishes. 
The widow, however, by the advice of her kin- 
dred, had resolved to fceep from Francis the 
contents of the paper found on her husband’s 
body, and had determined not to let the castle 
slip out of her fingers. At the same time, 
knowing that Francis was the custodian 
of the portable wealth of his brother, she 
resolved to force from him * the knowledge 
of the place of its deposit and when it 
was secured, Francis, for whom she had 
no regard or love as a relative on account of 
his religious affiliations, was to suffer the penalty 
of being a traitor to the Government, or to be 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


255 


slain outright, either one of which courses would 
not have been repugnant to her conscience or 
inclination. In course of time the prisoner was 
brought before the assembled family and the de- 
mand was made of him to reveal the place 
where he had hidden the treasure. This he 
refused to do, unless a warrant from his 
brother was showm instructing him to do 
so. He was told plainly that no war- 
rant would be shown him. He was in 
their power, and if he did not choose to divulge 
his secret willingly, means would be taken to 
extort it from him by force, and if he still re- 
fused, then his life would pay the forfeit of his 
rashness. To all of these threats and demands 
Francis steadfastly refused to accede. He was 
then remanded back to the dungeon with the 
assurance that after having 'the night to con- 
sider his position, if he then refused to confess 
the place, it would be wrung from him by the 
most severe torture. No sooner had the dun- 
geon door closed on its rusty and creaking 
hinges, than the prisoner, who had carefully 
studied the plans of these underground vaults, 
made his way to a certain place within the 
apartment and touching a secret spring, a stone 
moved out of its place, disclosing an aperture 


256 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


large enough to admit his person. He pressed 
his way through, pushing the movable stone 
back into its place. He was not at loss how to 
proceed, in fact as we have before intimated, 
every room in the castle had an open door for 
him should he choose to use it. What he did 
do was to proceed to one of the secret apart- 
ments which he knew was fitted up with con- 
veniences for him to pass the night comfortably. 
There he retired to rest and slept soundly and 
peacefully in the sense of perfect security. When 
the morning came he placed himself in close prox- 
imity to the cell where he had been confined and 
waited until his jailors came to bring him forth 
again. Great was his amusement when he 
heard their cries of astonishment and alarm 
when they found the cell empty, and their con- 
jectures as to how the prisoner had made his 
escape. He saw that they believed some one 
within the castle had befriended him and had 
aided him. And as the jailors, after hunting in 
vain for some clue to the mysterious disappear 
ance, went to report the escape, he too made 
his way to the scene of the denouncement. 
Wrathful indeed was his brother’s widow and 
her kindred when they learned of his flight, and 
they charged the jailors to make the strictest 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


257 


search everywhere, and follow the slightest clue 
that would lead to the discovery of those con- 
cerned in the liberation. Then Francis, who 
was situated where he could easily listen to 
what was being said, heard them discuss the 
whole affair, including the paper they had found 
on his brother’s body, and of their intention to 
make way with him ultimately at all hazards. 
He thereupon resolved that the wisest and only 
course for him to pursue would be to defer 
troubling the treasure or making any disposal 
of it until some time in the future, when he 
could do so with safety. Having come to that 
conclusion on that uight, under cover of dark- 
ness he left the castle, as well as that part of 
the country. Afterwards, as opportunity 
presented, he joined himself to one and another 
party of Protestants in the guerrilla warfare 
they waged with their natural enemies, the 
Catholics. This, however, was very distasteful 
to him, for he soon discovered that most of the 
leaders w 7 ere in the movement from purely 
political motives, and that the few 7 who espoused 
the cause for conscience’ and religion’s sake were 
in the hopeless minority. Even that great 
Prince Henry of Navarre, was vacillating and 
like a weather cock, now favoring one side and 


258 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


now the other, as he considered it best for his 
personal interests. 

There was one great, noble-hearted man 
among the Protestants who was true to the 
cause, and who, amid the vicissitudes of the 
times, had influence always near the throne. 
This was the celebrated Amiral Coligni, until he 
was finally murdered on the night of St. Bar- 
tholomew’s day. He was a tower of strength 
to the Reformers, and his position and influence 
enabled him to aid his oppressed countrymen. 
He devised and carried out many schemes for 
their safety and relief. One of these plans was 
to send them as colonists to the Western World, 
then newly discovered. As we have said, 
Francis was weary of the religious strife going 
on about him, and having no family ties to 
bind him to France, determined, for a few years, 
to try his fortunes in some other country. A 
company of colonists under the patronage of 
Coligni, were about to embark for America. 
This was in the early part of the year 1562* 
He joined his fortunes with these adventurers, 
and was with them in their romantic founding 
and sad ending of that early settlement on 
what is now known as South Carolina soil. He 
had brought with him the silver ball, the key to 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


259 


the hidden treasures he had left behind in his 
native land. It so happened that this inani- 
mate, but important, object took the first of 
many voyages it was destined to make from 
that day to this. As you are doubtless familiar 
with the account of- those early voyages, it will 
be needless for me to enter into the details of 
their fortunes. Francis was one of the number 
who were rescued from the well-nigh sinking 
vessel the survivors of the colony had built to 
take them back to France. The English vessel 
that picked them up in their forlorn and starv- 
ing condition, carried Francis to the British 
Isles. Here he located himself, and falling in 
love with an English maiden, married her, set- 
tled down to the life of an English country 
gentleman, and enjoyed the sweets of home and 
children. On several occasions in after life, 
when the conditions of the times would allow 
it, he went over to his native land, with the in- 
tention, if possible, of making a just settlement 
of the affairs committed to him by his brother. 
On each occasion he found obstacles in the way, 
of which I shall speak hereafter. It will now be 
necessary for me to go back a little in my 
narrative. When Castle Reneau, after its cap- 
ture, came into possession of Henry’s vidow, 


260 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


and the episode of Francis’ capture and escape 
had taken place, the widow, who had learned 
from the papers in her possession of the hidden 
treasures, and her husband’s wish concerning 
the castle, was more than ever determined that 
Francis should never occupy the place if she 
could help it, and was also determined to dis- 
cover the treasure. The first was easily accom- 
plished by destroying that portion of the docu- 
ment relating to the disposition of the castle. 
The fact, however, could not be annulled, for 
Francis had overheard the plot concerning it. 
As to recovering the treasure, she was satisfied 
that it must be about the fortress somewhere. 
The next thing to do was to recapture the 
prisoner and force from him the knowledge of 
the spot where it was concealed. This she 
found a difficult thing to do, and after trying 
for several years to find him by every means in 
her power, the only thing left for her to do was 
to keep her servants posted as to his personal 
appearance, and charge them to be continually 
on the watch. The desire to find him became a 
passion with her. During her lifetime she never 
failed to haro the watch kept, but the watching 
was in vain. The hour of death came upon her 
with the wish ungratified, but she resolved that 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


261 


the effort to recover the treasure should not cease 
with her life. In the disposition of her property 
she made provision for a watch to be always 
kept for the treasure keeper. And she admin- 
istered a solemn oath to her legatee that he 
would have the watch kept, and that he also 
would require an oath from his descendants to 
have the same office performed until the object 
was accomplished. The consequence was that 
when Francis, as we have before stated, went to 
his native land, it mattered not in what dis- 
guise, he found, on attempting to reach the 
treasure for the purpose of removing it, his 
object was thwarted by the lynx-eyed guar- 
dians, who did not relax their vigilance while a 
strange face or form was within or near the 
forbidden precincts. On several occasions he 
had entered the castle, and had entered the 
secret place where the hidden wealth was stored, 
but on each occasion he had refrained from re- 
moving anything save that which he could 
rightfully call his own. It would cost him his 
life at any time to make himself known, and 
another thing that caused him perplexity was 
the fact that all the male offspring of his 
brother had died, and the property would thus 
pass out of the family name, and knowing as 


262 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


he did his brother’s wishes, he could not, with a 
clear conscience, act in any way. 

“And thus it happened that Francis too 
came down to his last hour of life without hav- 
ing accomplished the one great object that he 
had hoped to perform. The sto^ of his life 
and the silver ball containing the directions 
how to use it, and for what purpose, was left 
in charge of his son, who in after years, was 
one of a company of emigrants who came to 
the New World, and located in the colony of 
Massachusetts Bay. The descendants of this 
son, in the course of time, went southward to 
the Carolinas, and located on lands near 
Charleston, the silver bullet meanwhile bearing 
them company. It is needless for me to go into 
the details of its various journeys for the next 
two centuries. With rare exceptions each one 
to whom it fell as an heirloom visited France and 
endeavored to recover the treasure, but the 
vigilantee who stood at his post at the castle 
on the rocky cliff, was ever an obstacle in the 
way. The silver bullet fell as a legacy to me. 
My father before his death called me to hin; and 
gave it to me in solemn charge. During the 
Franco-Prussian war I went to France and en- 
tered the Army of Napoleon III by special per- 


1BE SILVER BULLET. 


263 


mission as an aide to one of the generals, thinking 
that some good stroke of fortune might enable 
me to visit the old castle, which was now a ruin, 
and in my capacity as an officer of the army of 
the Empire, might gain possession of the 
treasure. I first concealed the silver bullet about 
my person in such a way that it could never be 
found except by me voluntarily revealing its 
locality; at the same time it was where I could 
gain possession of it in a moment. It so 
happened that I fell into the hands of the 
watchers at the castle during an attempt I made 
to get to the secret entrance, for that now is 
the only means of ingress. Since the walls have 
tumbled and the debris has collected it would 
take a small arm y several days to clear away 
the approaches to the treasure chamber from 
within the fallen walls. These men, who had no 
idea who I was, stripped me to nudity and tore 
my clothing to shreds in search of anything 
like a key or manuscript bearing on the treas- 
ure, but in its safe repository the silver bullet 
kept undiscovered thejsec ret three centuries, and 
my captors turned me loose with apologies for 
their severe handling of my person and clothing, 
and telling me the reason of their rudeness, and 
furnishing me with a change of garments in 


264 


THE SILVER BULLET . 


place of those they had destroyed. I also was 
compelled to come away without having entered 
the treasure chamber. The secret is still in my 
possession, and as I look upon it, my ancestors 
having been kept from their rightful inheritance 
of these estates until those possessions have been 
shattered into a thousand fragments and are in 
such a condition that a whole lifetime would not 
suffice to straighten out the tangled mass of pro- 
bate matter that would have to be gone through 
with, my heirs have the strongest claim on the 
treasure and if it be possible I wish them to ob- 
tain it. Hitherto, I am satisfied my ancestors 
as well as myself, have pursued the wrong steps 
to gain possession. This has been due to the 
fact that there has never failed to be a male of my 
line to iuherit the old family traditions as well as 
the property. 

“ Now, for the first time the descendants of 
Francis Reueau, in my death, will be without a 
male representative. My daughter, Minette, is 
the remaining link in the chain that connects 
the Present with the Past. Though she is ma- 
ture for her years, she is but a child, and I 
would not that she, with her other troubles, 
carry this family ghost, about which as yet she 
knows nothing. Since you were here the other 


THE SILVER BULLET. 265 

day and I recognized in you one of those chafs- 
men of our ‘ mystic tie/ I have evolved in my 
mind a scheme that will bring about the ac- 
complishment of my desires, if you will lend your 
aid to it. You will remember that in the hall 
below you saw some specimens of antique armor 
which I told you had been fished out that mur- 
derous well in the council chamber of Reneau 
castle. I obtained those specimens on the oc- 
casion when, after the guards of whom I spoke 
had fallen upon me and well nigh put an end . 
to my existence. I represented to them that I 
was an antiquarian in search of relics and cu- 
rios. In this I spake but the truth, though I 
told it but in part, and as they found that I 
was an American, they readily believed the tale. 
For, as one of them remarked, ‘ he believed it 
was a national trait of the Yankee nation to 
prize anything that was a hundred years old / ad- 
ding, that ‘ he presumed it was a natural thing 
for people who had no antiquity of their own 
to boast of to envy its possession by others 
and to try to ape it, even if they have to wear 
it as some people do second-hand clothes, bor- 
rowed livery or hired costumes.’ Now, Mr. De- 
Roque, as you are an antiquarian, and I judge 
to be a man of discretion, it occurred to me 


266 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


that you would be just the man to carry out 
my plan. I have no doubt you would enjoy 
and appreciate a visit to the Old World, and I 
think you told me you had never crossed the 
ocean. My plan.is this: You are to undertake 
the mission of rescuing the hidden treasure and 
I will arrange that all the funds necessary to 
carry out the enterprise shall be furnished you. 
You shall take your own time to accomplish the 
object. You can also adopt your own methods 
and ample remuneration for your time sjiall be 
provided, whether you succeed or fail. In either 
event, I am confident you will do your best to 
serve me, in case your judgment should ap- 
prove of my scheme. I am impelled to ask this 
favor of you because my days for this world are 
numbered. It is only a question of a few days, 
or months at the longest. And if you can give 
me the assurance that this matter will be at- 
tended to in the manner I have outlined, a great 
load will be lifted from my mind. I do not ask 
you to decide in a moment, but give me your 
word that you will give it a thought, and if pos- 
sible your consent. And now, having unfolded 
to you the business I wished to communicate, 
and for which I desired your presence, I shall 
devote myself to the task of arranging for its 


IRE SILVER LIjLLET. 


267 


accomplishment, for something within me tells 
me that you will accede to my wishes when you 
have fully considered the matter.’’ 

Having thus expressed himself, the sick man 
sank back in his reclining chair with a sigh of 
relief at having unburdened his mind of a great 
weight and looked in silence with a keen, anx- 
ious glance at the Captain to see what impres- 
sion his strange story had made on that gentle- 
man. For a few moments the hush of the room 
was almost painful, not a word was spoken by 
either for some time. At last the Captain broke 
the silence. 

“Mr. Reneau,” he said, “I trust you will not 
have taken my reluctance to answer as an in- 
dication that I have been an indifferent or dis- 
interested listener to what you have been say- 
ing. The subject you have been discussing has 
been so strange and of such an uncommon 
character I can hardly believe, even now, that 
I have not been listening to some fanciful tale, 
but when I look upon you and see your condi- 
tion I am conscious that you are speaking 
words of truth and soberness. You must see 
that it would be rash and unwise for me to 
give you a positive or definite answer to your 
request at this time. I will promise you, how- 


268 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


ever, to give the subject careful thought, and I 
also give .you the assurance that the mission 
would be one of a most agreeable nature for 
me to undertake. It has been the dream of my 
life to visit the Old World— only a dream so far. 
I had long since given up the hope that my cir- 
cumstances would ever permit me to make the 
dream a reality. So your proposition and the 
conditions that accompany it come to me as a 
fulfillment of my fondest anticipations, and yet 
I shrink from the acceptance of such a charge for 
fear that I might fail, where some one better 
qualified might achieve success.” 

The sick man indulged in a quiet laugh at the 
last suggestion, but he answered the hinted ob- 
jection by saying, “ I am somewhat of a judge 
of human nature, Captain DeRoque, and I 
rarely mistake forming a correct opinion of 
others, when I can see them under the circum- 
stances I have met you. The mission will be 
congenial to you and you must recollect I do 
not expect or demand impossibilities. I am 
willing to trust to your ingenuity to hood- 
wink the paid guards who watch the ruined 
walls of Reneau Castle, and somehow that 
strong and helpful angel Faith whispers to my 
inmost hehrt that you will break the spell that 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


269 


has brooded over my house for three centuries. 
I thank you for coming at my call today. A 
dying man has many anxious thoughts to con- 
tend with ere he finds the great release. But 
your presence has given ine surcease from care 
and painful apprehension, and my passage 
through the gateway of death will be less of a 
trial because of this interview. I feel that I 
shall have a welcome to the better world be- 
yond. Long years ago my peace was made 
with my Maker and I look forward with joy to 
being with Him, and the loved ones who 
have gone on before. And you, my dear 
friend and brother in the ‘ mystic tie, 7 I may 
never see you again in this world. We haye both 
labored in the symbolical temple below; let us 
meet in til at spiritual temple above, not made 
with human hands. And may the great Archi- 
tect of the universe, as He tries us by his own 
unerring square, greet us with the welcome 
‘ Well done, enter immortal bliss through the 
merit of my well beloved Son.’ ” 

And thus they parted never to meet again in 
this wold. 


CHAPTER X. 


MINETTE AND DICK. 

While the men of mature years were met in 
the chamber above, how fared it with the 
youths that remained below? (We have already 
hinted at the impression each had made on the 
other; we shall see.) 

On being left alone, Minette led Dick into the 
spacious and interesting hall, and bade him be 
seated in a chair that stood midway of the 
apartment. As Dick sat down, he saw that the 
piece of furniture on which he rested his form, 
was of somewhat unusual construction. It was 
made of solid mahogany, and was of square, 
massive shape. It rested on four round, gilded 
balls, which were clasped by four carved eagle 
c'laws. At the end of each arm, and on the top 
of the two upright back-posts, were gilded eagle 
heads. On the back of the chair was a carved 
shield, on which was the letter “N.” The legs 
and supports were all ornamented with carving, 
in spiral form, and the whole was so unique in 
design that Dick was fascinated by it. An awful 
sense of being in the presence of a greatness he 
could not define came over him, and his face 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


271 


assumed a puzzled and perplexed look. Minette, 
though she was grief-stricken over the impend- 
ing blow that she knew was to soon come upon 
her in the expected death of her father, could 
not refrain from a sad smile as she noticed 
Dick’s perplexity, and she said to him: “So 
you feel the effects of sitting in the great Na- 
poleon’s arm chair.” Then seeing Dick was 
more perplexed than ever, she explained her 
meaning thus : “The chair on which you are 
sitting was once the favorite arm-chair of that 
most famous Emperor of France, Napoleon 
Bonaparte. My, father, whose ancestors were 
Frenchmen, has a great love for anything that 
pertains to that country or its history. And 
especially does he hold in high esteem the life 
and genius of Napoleon, whom he considers 
one of the greatest men who has ever lived in 
the world. My father has visited France a num- 
ber of times, and on each occasion when he has 
made the trip, he has brought back souvenirs 
of the journey. Among the many objects of his- 
torical interest he procured was this chair. He 
obtained it in such a way that he has no doubt 
of its genuineness. A strange feature connected 
with it is the fact that he had an experience 
similiar to the sensations you have just felt. My 


272 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


father served in the French Army durign the 
Franco-Prussian war, and being one day at the 
palace of one of the nobility, he sat down in the 
chair, as you have just done, with much the 
same experience. Having performed some ser- 
vice for the nobleman, that personage presented 
him with this chair, and he brought it with him 
on his return to America. You are not the only 
person besides my father who has felt the spell 
of this historic relic. Not every one is affected 
by it, but some are, and when it occurs, the 
8 ubject is profoundly impressed. My father 
says he cannot explain the philosophy of the 
mystery, but he thinks there is a sort of magne- 
tism about some great men and geniuses that 
affects some other men, and even inanimate ob- 
jects, and just as a piece of steel has imparted 
to it the magnetic influence of the lodestone on 
the magnet, by coming into contact with it, so 
the magnetic influence of certain great men is 
imparted to other men and objects by coming 
in contact with them. We know that Napo- 
leon’s life and character affects the interests of 
the world today. May it uot be that some of 
his almost supernatural power still lingers in 
this inanimate wood that doubtless was as- 
sociated with him for so many years of his 


TEE SILVER BULLET . 


273 


eventful life. At any rate, the sensations you 
refer to have been experienced by many others 
besides yourself, be the cause what it may. My 
father says this chair came from the Island of 
St. Helena, and was associated with Napoleon’s 
exile. The companion piece of it is a bedstead, 
made of the same material, and ornamented in 
the same manner, with the gilded eagles’ heads 
and claws.” 

This statement was a startling revelation to 
our young friend Dick, and in connection with 
the strange sensations he had experienced, 
made him feel uncanny. It must be remembered 
that he was an unsophisticated youth. His life 
had been spent in a narrow compass, and he 
had seen very little of the real world . He had 
access to the library of the manufacturing com- 
pany by whom he was employed, and in the 
world of books he had become acquainted with 
many of the great characters in history, and 
among others, the great French Emperor. But 
to his mind all such characters seemed to belong 
to another world than this. It had never oc- 
curred to him that he would ever cpme in con- 
tact with any of them, or with anything belong- 
ing to them or their times. Here he was sitting 
in the chair in which Napoleon had sat; All 


274 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


he had ever read of the great warrior and 
statesman came trooping into his thoughts. 
Like a phantom army, he could see passing be- 
fore him battle scenes, military and civic pa- 
geants, and the thousand events that history 
portrays in making up the life of that wonderful 
man. For the first time it all seemed real. 

May we not be pardoned for pausing in our 
narrative to make a few remarks on the subject 
of impressing the mind of youth with facts, 
maxims and precepts in such a way as to make 
them real. One may take a lead pencil and 
write with it a beautiful poem, but the impres- 
sion of the graphite on the paper may be so 
light and dim that in handling it a few times 
the impression is obscured and lost. If it be 
written in indellible ink ]the impression remains 
to charm and gladden the mind for all time ; so it 
is with the mind of youth. A statement may be 
made in such a light, trifling manner that the boy 
or girl to whom it is addressed will not be inter- 
ested in it, and with the result that the first 
two or three incidents that occur to amuse or 
divert will obliterate what would have been a 
valuable lesson had the right or proper means 
been taken to make the correct impression in the 
first place. In our humble judgment, every 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


275 


school-room should have a museum connected 
with it, in which there should be collections and 
specimens of natural and civil history, cabinets 
of coins and medals, minerals and relics of his- 
torical interest. There is no community of 
fifty persons where such collections could not be 
made. Teach the children history, mineralogy, 
geography, or any of the practical studies with 
the aid of such helps, and we will warrant that 
what has hitherto been like the picking of dry 
bones will become a fascinating and delightful 
occupation to them. 

So it was with Dick Griswold, as with his fair 
young companion, in the antique hall at Pleas- 
ant Valley. He saw objects from different parts 
of the world, and had them explained to him by 
one of the sweetest voices to which he had ever 
listened. He saw what his comrades had seen 
a few days before, but with the difference that 
he had more leisure, and also had the fair guide 
all to himself. At first their conversation was 
as various as the objects on which they looked, 
for all was new and unique to Dick. So inter- 
ested did he become that he doubted in his own 
mind if he ever would forget what he heard and 
saw. To the boy’s chivalrous nature the old 
armors and arms had a peculiar charm. One 


276 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


heavy two-handed sword especially attracted 
his attention, and as he asked its history, 
Minette told him that it belonged to one of her 
ancestors on her father’s side, who was a knight 
in the brave old days of chivalry. “ Strange as 
it may seem,” she continued, “he was one of that 
number, who, during the middle ages, believed 
in the existence of what was known in the ro- 
mantic literature and history of the medieval 
days, as the “ Holy Grail,’ and with others he 
went on several crusades in search of it. At least 
that fact is so stated, and has come down to us 
as such in the annals and traditions of my 
father’s family. This broad sword belonged to 
him, and as it is an heirloom as well as being a 
weapon of antique design, my father prizes it.” 
As she paused in her remarks, Dick, who had 
again been led into deep water, with reference 
to the subject of the “ Holy Grail,” craved par- 
don for exhibiting his ignorance, but begged to 
be enlightened as to what was meant by the 
“ Holy Grail.” It was a term he had never 
heard before, and as it seemed to apply to that 
interesting period of history known as the Dark 
Ages, about which he knew very little, it would 
interest liim to know more about it. Minette 


THE S1LVEB BULLET. 277 

was glad to impart the information, which she 
did in her own way, as follows: 

“ Mr. Griswold, I will give you the legend (for 
it is presumed to be only a legend now) as my 
father gave it to me, as nearly as I can remem- 
ber. Of course I cannot tell it in so interesting a 
manner as he did. The “ Holy Grail ” is a mys- 
tical vessel or shallow dish, something like a 
saucer, only a great deal larger. It was con- 
nected or purported to be connected with the 
last night that our Lord and Savior spent on 
earth. You remember the account of the last 
supper, when Christ and His disciples met and 
partook of it in the upper chamber. Some of 
the accounts say that the cup which He then 
blessed and gave to His disciples to drink from 
was the ‘ Holy Grail.’ Other accounts say that 
it was the dish out of which He, with them, ate 
the ‘ Paschal Lamb.’ It is said the dish was 
very beautiful, being made out of a single 
precious stone. When our Savior h&d been 
crucified on the Cross, and His dead body had 
been taken down for the burial, Joseph, of 
Arimathea, who took charge of that sad and 
mournful task, went to the upper chamber, 
where he knew the supper had been held, and 
found this dish. In preparing the body for the 


278 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


tomb, he caught some of the blood which still 
oozed from the gaping wounds, and preserved 
it with the vessel. As the legend goes, Joseph 
afterwards became a missionary, and went west 
as far as the Isle of Britanny, carrying the 
‘Holy Grail’ with him, thus carrying the Gos- 
pel to England in the first century of the Chris- 
tian era. As the blood of Christ was supposed 
to have marvelous power, so this mythical dish 
containing drops of that precious liquid had 
marvelous qualities of detecting by a touch, 
those that were of impure lives, and healing 
those who were sick, of their diseases. At the 
time in which this ancestor of ours lived it was 
believed that he who possessed it* would be the 
most fortunate of mortals. Many men devoted 
their lives to the search for it, just as others 
searched for the Philosopher’s Stone, or the 
Fountain of Perpetual Youth. Of course, the 
whole story is a fable and myth to us, but it 
was real to those in the olden days. Napoleon 
Bonaparte, in his lifetime, had presented to him 
a cup made of a single and exceedingly pure 
emerald, which was claimed to be the original 
cup used by the Savior at the last supper, 
and therefore the ‘ Holy Grail.’ Such an object 
in the age of Chivalry would naturally fire the 


THE SILVER BULLET . 


279 


hearts of men who w T ere tinctured with so much 
of superstition as they were. It seems to us 
now the height of folly, and we wonder how in- 
telligent men could bring themselves to believe 
in such a thing, even then ; but they did believe 
in it, and staked life and fortune in the attempt 
to obtain it. 

“ This is all I know about it. I trust it has 
not been altogether unisteresting.” 

“ Far from it,” answered Dick. “It has been 
full of interest to me, I can assure you, and as 
I had -never heard of such a thing before, it has 
been new as well as interesting. And to think 
that this old broad-sword has taken a real part 
in the beautiful superstition. Why, Miss Min- 
ette, I can scarcely realize it. Somehow, to be 
in this room makes me feel as if I w^ere living 
centuries back. 

“And now 7 as you have entertained me in 
such an interesting manner, allow me to return 
the compliment by telling you of a more 
modern event which is somewhat similar but 
which is not a myth.” 

Saying which, Dick took from his coat pocket 
a photograph of the Mysterious Face in the 
Saucer, of v r hich we gave an account in the 
opening chapter of this story. And as in his 


280 


THE SILVER BULLET 


eloquent way he told of the family bereavement, 
the great sorrow, the mother’s prayer for help 
to bear it, the remarkable appearing of the 
Christ face painted in coffee grounds, of what 
has since been to the comforted mother a verit- 
able Holy Gail, Minette’s lovely eyes filled with 
tears and her heart with sympathy. She 
thanked Dick for his story of a real experience 
and for the photograph, which he begged her to 
accept. 

“ I must show it and tell the story to my 
father,” she said. “ He will be deeply interested 
in it I know. And, 0, you can never know how 
much the story of that poor mother’s comfort 
has comforted me, and how it will help me to 
bear the trial that I must soon experience.” 

The e 3 r es are one of the best indexes of real 
sympathy. The silent, soulful power that emana- 
ted from the boy’s kindly eyes needed no spoken 
words to reveal how he entered into her impend- 
ing sorrow. As one in crossing an unknown 
stream feels hope and strength kindle anew with- 
in the breast as an unlooked for stepping stone 
presents itself to view, so the innocent, trust- 
ing girl felt that she had a safe and sure sup- 
port in this disinterested friendship that was 
looming up out of the mists that had been 


THE SILVER BELLE T. 


281 


gathering over the waters of the river which the 
feet of her father were about to ford. 

After looking over the cabinets of relics and 
curios and talking about them in a quiet, sub- 
dued manner, they came to the books. Min- 
ette asked her companion if he were found of 
poety. 

“Very much so,” was the answer, though he 
was constrained to confess that his reading 
along that line had been very limited, and he 
feared that what to his uncultured mind seemed 
beautiful and worthy would hardly fill the ideal 
of those whose intellectual attainments had been 
moreextensive. “My favorite poet,” he said, “is 
our own American Longfellow. In his verse I 
can seem, in fancy, to hear what I never have 
in reality, the swelling anthems of old Cathedral 
choirs with the grand organ accompainment, 
the lengendary lore of the European Continent 
told in the sublimest strains, the battle songs, 
the Indian legends, with tales of forest streams 
and sea, told in rhyme as musical as the chime 
of sweet bells.” 

“From which,” quoth Minette, “I plainly 
perceive you yourself . are not destitute of 
what is called the c Divine Afflatus.’ But as 
the subject is before us, lam anxious to know 


282 


THE SILVER BULLET. 

what is your favorite poem as well as poet?’* 
The answer came in a grave and tender voice 
as one who draws out from his heart some hid- 
den treasure. “ To me with my faith in God and 
belief in the power of prayer, Longfellow’s ‘ San- 
dalphon ’ is the best and sweetest of all he has 
written. Sandalphon, you know was the angel 
of prayer who stood at the Gates of the Celes- 
tial City and into his hands came all the prayers 
that came up to Heaven from mortals below. 
And these particuliar lines of the poem have an 
irresistable charm and seem most beautiful to 
me: 

‘ And he gathers the prayers as he stands, 

And they change into flowers in his hands, 

Into garlands of purple and red 

And beneath the great arch of the portal, 

Up to the streets of the City Immortal, 

Is wafted the fragrance they shed.’ 

“This poetic fancy meets my idea that all 
our prayers are acceptable in the sight of God, 
and as the odors of incense on the temple altars 
filled the holy place with sweet perfume, and the 
fragrance of flowers borne on the summer wind 
fills the senses with delight, so our prayers 
borne on the winds of love and affection to 
the throne of God in Heaven, fill all that blessed 
place with delight. And now, if it would not be 


THE SIEVE 21 BULLET. 


283 


asking too much, I fain would know your favor- 
ite poem.” 

The maiden who had been listening in a 
thoughtful mood replied : 

“It seems strange, but some how our minds 
and tastes seem to run in much the same chan- 
nel. My favorite poem is also a poem of prayer. 
But the author, though from New England, is 
not the same. The writer to whom I allude is 
the Poet Whittier and the poem is what is 
known as Andrew Kykeman’s Prayer. It seems 
to me that the spirit that is breathed forth in 
written petition expresses the language of my 
heart, and I can adopt it as my own. The clos- 
ing sentences especially seem to fit my aspira- 
tions, and are in the following words : 

“ Let the lowest task be mine 
Grateful, so the work be thine. 

Let me find the humblest place 
In the shadow of Thy grace. 

Blest to me were any spot 
Where temptation whispers not. 

If there be some weaker one 
Give me strength to help him on. 

If a blinder soul there be 
Let me guide him nearer Thee. 

Make my mortal dreams come true 
With the work I fain would do. 

Clothe with life the weak intent, 

Let me be the thing I meant. 

Let me find in Thy employ, 


284 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


Peace that dearer is than joy. 

Out of self to Thee be led, 

And to Heaven acclimated, 

Until all things sweet and good, 

Seem my natural habitude.” 

“ In our quiet life here in the mountains with 
few associates we have much time for medita- 
tion and self-examination, and it seems to my 
aunties and myself that we could do a great 
deal of good if our environment was like yours, 
who live in the crowded towns. You were not 
here the other day with your comrades, so you 
did not witness my auntie’s scheme of trying to 
do good by proxy, and using Mr. DeRoque and 
your friends as instruments to that end. That 
was only one of the many evolved by us to 
penetrate the regions beyond Pleasant Valley 
Castle. We study these things more than one 
would suppose in view of our retired residence. 
So you see this beautiful prayer in Whittier’s 
poem is an invocation that I can adopt, for it 
fully expresses my needs. Now, what do you 
think of it?” 

“ I think, Miss Minette, that you are a better 
girl than I am a boy. I was admiring the 
beautiful diction, the musical rythm of Long- 
fellow’s Sandalphon, and in my view of it had 
been indulging in a dreamy, sentimental view 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


285 


of something going- on in the other world, 
but your mind and heart take a practical 
and present view of things. While I have 
been dreaming, you have been doing. Well, 
your prayer has been answered wherein you 
asked that 

‘ If there be some weaker oue, 

Give me strength to help him on.’ 

“I have been weaker than you to grasping 
life’s duties to perform them, but your words 
have helped me to stronger resolutions for the 
future.” 

As Dick was standing by the bookcase 
his eye in its wandering gaze about the hall 
took in an object that caused him to utter an 
exclamation of surprise and wonder, “ What a 
remarkable resemblance,” he said almost un- 
consciously. Minette looked at him enquiringly 
as if she failed to catch the meaniug of his words, 
and he perceiving the puzzled expression, pointed 
to a heavily mounted frame containing within 
its enclosure an iron medallion. The medallion 
was a representation of the head of Jesus 
Christ. It had evidently been copied from that 
celebrated picture of our Lord painted by the 
renowned artist, Leonardo De Vinci, represent- 
ing the last Supper. “ I was struck,” said Dick, 


286 


THE SILVER BULLET . 


“with the points of resemblance between that 
medal and the Picture in the Saucer. 
There is the Ion g, flowing hair, the pointed 
beard and other features. This medal shows 
high skill and workmanship, but one can 
easily discern the resemblance between the two. 
Is there any special history connected with it?” 

“ Not particularly,” was the answer. “ In one 
of his pilgrimages abroad my father obtained 
this medallion from a convent in Italy. I have 
heard hi nr say that it was over two hundred 
years old. He considers it a remarkably pure 
and beautiful piece of work for an iron casting. 
Of course, a medal struck from a die, if the die 
be properly prepared, can be made to show the 
most perfect outlines, but with a casting of iron 
it is quite a different thing. This face has such 
a wonderful expression of tenderness and sor- 
row, and depicts that moment when our 
Savior sat at the table and said to the disciples, 
who were around him, ‘One of you shall betray 
me.’ My father, whose perception of form is 
very correct, became fascinated with the medal, 
and, for a consideration, succeeded in obtaining 
it. I have often seen him stand before it as if 
lost in thought and meditation. Sometimes I 
have wanted to ask him what was in his mind, 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


287 


but we have a rule here that we strictly follow 
in readier, writing or being occupied in thought. 
No one is to disturb the one so engaged while 
they are in this hall, unless some subject of 
great importance demands their attention, and 
as I could see that father was having deep, 
long thoughts that must necessarily be of a 
serious and sacred character, I have never dis- 
turbed him. I think when the heart is com- 
muning with its God, those moments are the 
sweetest and most sacred of all human life. Do 
you not think so, too?” 

The young man readily assented to this 
proposition. In the meantime he had made a 
discovery. It will be remembered that Dick was 
employed in a cotton mill at Piedmont as an 
operative. In coming in contact with the 
various and complicated machinery of that es- 
tablishment he had learned, by observation, 
many things about them, and one was that 
in the making of castings there was the widest 
kind of difference. Some were faultless in their 
construction, while others were full of defects, 
the difference occurring on account of the care 
less or careful preparation of the work ; for 
instance, he had noticed that the more gates a 
casting had, by which the melted metals could 


288 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


be conveyed into the mould, the better and 
more faultless the parts of the machine would 
be. He had taken down the frame that held 
the medallion (the medal being* of a sqare form) 
and had seen that on one end of the medal in 
the space of four inches were the marks of five 
gates through which the melted iron had 
formed the medal. The artisau who made this 
casting, he said, did a great deal to help the 
artist in developing his ideal, and, furthermore, 
it would seem that he knew as much about the 
art of making perfect castings as the most 
skilled iron worker of today. And so as young 
people will, this young couple in their conversa- 
tion ran over a great variety of subjects, includ- 
ing works of art and literature. The Christian 
religion, the personal faith each had in God, the 
the dark cloud of trouble hanging over the 
house of Eeneau, each giving and receiving in 
receptive minds information that was new and 
valued, aud to Minette Dick’s strong, religious 
faith seemed like a tower of strength. “All 
things work together for good to those who 
love God,” the boy had assured her, and, 
though in her human weakness, the way might 
seem dark and cheerless, if she would only trust 
in Him her faith would be a bridge of light and 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


289 


peace that would carry her safe and secure over 
the dark stream of trial that lay in her path- 
way. With such thoughts and experiences the 
time was beguiled until the Captain descended 
from the sick chamber above. After consulta- 
tion with the sisters it was decided that while 
Mr. Reneau’s condition was critical, there was 
no reason to believe there was immediate dan- 
ger of his losing his life. A physician who had 
been sent for had arrived and had given his 
patient a careful examination ; his decision also 
coincided with theirs. And as Pleasant Y alley 
Castle did not lack for many and willing hands 
to give the sick man all the attention and care 
he needed, there was no reason for the Captain 
and Dick to prolong their stay and they made 
ready to depart. Minette again thanked the 
Captain for responding so promptly to the call 
of her father and also thanked him for bringing 
Dick with him. 

“ He has been such a great help to me,” she 
said, in her artless way. Then turning to Dick 
she gave him her hand and in making known her 
gratitude for his kindly words of help, expressed 
the hope that this might not be the last time 
they should meet. “ I presume,” she said “ that 
you will be interested to learn of my father’s 


290 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


condition, and I am sure I shall be interested 
in the adventures of the members of Caesar’s 
Head camp, after the camp is broken up. Why 
can you not write tome? and let us prolong 
the companionship so sadly and yet so pleas- 
antly begun.” 

Dick readily acquiesced in a proposition that 
to him was one of supreme happiness. This 
new acquaintance had been so hallowed to him 
it seemed like a dream. He eagerly welcomed 
anything that would make it enduring. 

Our human nature is a strange thing, in some 
respects. Congenial spirits meet and in a few 
hours the friendships of a lifetime are cemented. 
Thus it was with this boy and girl whose ex- 
perience we have been relating. Looking at 
their sudden friendship from the standpoint of 
mature years and the wordly wisdom of society 
in general, these two ought not to have any- 
thing in common. The girl was the scion of a 
wealthy and highly cultivated family, with cen- 
turies of pure and noble blood running in her 
veins. A name amounts to nothing, save as an 
advertisement. But generations of pure, culti- 
vated, energetic ancestry is a prestige of incal- 
culable value to any one. All these advantages 
possessed by her lineage was imbodied in' the girl. 


THE SILVER BULLET 


291 


On the other hand, here was a factory boy 
who could not trace his ancestry back of his 
grandfather. So far as he knew, all of his peo- 
ple had been hard working and poor. In the 
line of intellectual attainments their opportuni- 
ties had been few. One thing could be said of 
them, however, they had been industrious and 
religious. These two charactertistics are pro- 
ductive of a natural, physical, moral and men- 
tal strength. It is safe to say that of these 
Dick had a generous share. One of our modern 
philosophers is credited with this saying: 
“ Sometimes the father and mother look out of 
the children’s eyes and sometimes a more remote 
relative.” There may be truth in this philo- 
sophic saying. Be that as it may, the ancestry 
of this boy and girl were pure and pious, and 
each in their sphere of life were industrious. 
This gave them an equal footing so far as na- 
tural endowments were concerned. Minette was 
farthest advanced in knowledge of books; Dick 
was farther advanced in the real experience of 
life and was rapidly closing the gap between 
them so far as classic knowledge was concerned. 
The privilege of home study in the evening when 
work at the mill was over, the investigations 
of the Circle with whom he was camping, and 


292 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


the public library at Piedmont, with its works 
of history, biography and scientific knowledge, 
found in him a constant and appreciative 
patron. He and Minette were as different from 
each other as persons well could be in personal 
appearance and general character. This was one 
reason why each was congenial to the other ; it 
was not self over again ; when they met each 
felt that there was a contrast, and an individu- 
ality, and the pleasing contrast formed the 
attraction. Each was quick to see it and ap- 
preciate it. And in this they unconsciously set 
an example for those grown up boys and girls, 
who, because they find someone who is so much 
like themselves as to think their thoughts, ac- 
quiesce in everything they do — in fact, are a 
reflection of their very selves — form alliances 
for life only to find existence a most insipid en- 
durance, void of that spice and variety which 
make up so great a part of the real pleasures 
of life. It will be seen that they were not so tar 
apart after all. They both had the pure gold 
in the composition of their character. The 
moulding and refining process of the one had 
been a little more complete than that of the 
other, that was all. Time would equalize the 
difference. 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


293 


We have noticed that among certain people 
and certain societies the clasping of the right 
hands means a great deal. The mere fact of 
laying one hand in another means nothing, but 
the peculiar manner in which the hand may be 
grasped determines the fact as to whether the 
persons then greeting each other are friends and 
brethren in the various great fraternal organi- 
zations of the world. People in Oriental lands 
are not so fulsome in the practice of hand-shak- 
ing as we of the Occident. For them to extend 
the right hand carries with it the idea of 
honor and trustfulness. And so as Minette 
and Dick stood, hand in hand, on the ample 
porch of Pleasant Valley Castle, let us associate 
in their minds these last and high ideals. The 
clasped hands fall apart in one sense, but in the 
spirit they remain together. 

Once more the Circle are gathered around the 
camp-fire on Caesar’s Head. The Captain and Dick 
have just come from Pleasant Valley, Tom, Jack 
and Nat from mountain top and glen. The Cap- 
tain is grave and thoughtful, Dick’s face has that 
expression upon it that one sees upon old paint- 
ings, representing the faces of Saints who have 
had a vision of Paradise. The faces of Tom, 
Jack and Nat wore the look of those enthusi- 


294 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


astic hunters who have accomplished the object 
of their search. Old Sol’s ebony and humorous 
face helps to complete a picture that would be 
a delight to a physiognomist. Jack Austin 
draws from his haversack an object that excites 
the universal attention. It is a carved object 
of stone not more than two inches square, and 
is the rude representation of a bear’s head. It 
is so fashioned that it could easily fit into a 
socket. On the query being made as to what it 
could have been used for, or what the design 
meant, Mr. DeRoque, as usual, was called upon 
to answer the qestion. After giviug it a careful 
examination, he said, “I recognize it as a part 
of a peculiar musical iustrument used by the 
Indians, called a ‘ Kautonka.’ It is made some- 
thing in the form of a flageolet, with the same 
number of finger holes and a slot up near the 
mouth-piece into which the stone object fits, the 
special design of it being to set the instrument 
to any desired key by moving the bear’s head 
backward or forward over the slot until the de- 
sired pitch is obtained. I have seen an occa- 
sional instrument of this kind that came from 
the tribes that now inhabit the great West, 
and have never given a thought as to whether 
they were a modern or ancient invention among 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


295 


the red men. Your finding this specimen would 
seem to indicate that they are of a more remote 
origin than I supposed. The bear head is an- 
other proof that the Indian had some taste and 
idea of form to enable him to carve the head so 
nicely. We certainly have been fortunate on 
this trip in finding rare archaeological speci- 
mens. 

Tom now displayed three round stones some 
six inches in diameter, which, on examination, 
proved to be jasper stone; one of them of the 
blood- red variety, the other two were green in 
color. When asked where they were found, he 
gave the following description : 

‘‘About seven miles from here we came to a 
place near the foot of the mountain where two 
streams meet and form a larger one. At the 
junction of the streams a rocky ledge rose fif- 
teen or twenty feet, forming a broad stretch of 
bottom lands. At various places along the 
face of the ledge we found cavities of different 
sizes that had been worn or scraped out by the 
hand of man. They were in shape like large 
bowls, and some of them had a capacity of five 
gallons ; we presumed they had been fashioned 
for some purpose because they were so regular 
in shape and so nicely finished. Near to these 


296 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


holes in the ledge we found fragments of clay 
pottery, chippings of flint, arrow points, and 
other evidences that it had been once a camp 
or village of the red men. To still further fasten 
this conviction on our minds, we found a bold, 
clear, cold, natural spring making its way from 
under one edge of the cliff, down to the stream 
of waters that flowed hard by.” 

The Captain listened to this description with 
interest, and at its conclusion said : “ Well, 

boys, I think I can give you the interpretation 
of the purpose for which these round stones 
were fashioned. Down near the sea-shore they 
would be called ‘chowder stones,’ but a better 
and more appropriate name for all localities 
would be ‘ heating atones.’ The Indians were 
very fond of fish, and when they caught them 
they had a variety of ways of cooking them. 
The most common way was to clean them and 
lay them on the coals to broil. Another way 
was to make soup or chowder of them. As this 
preparation required the use of pots, and as 
that kind of cooking utensil was rare, of course 
a fish chowder was a more rare dish than 
broiled fish. It so happened, however, that 
sometimes a camp or village was situated in 
just such a locality as you have described. 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


297 


There in the hard, rocky cliff they fashioned 
their permanent bowls or pots. When they 
wanted a chowder or boiled meat, they pre- 
pared the ingredients that were to compose it ; 
then in the fire near by they heated these tough, 
fine-grained stones ; then, with judgment and 
care, they brushed them clean from dirt, put 
them into the pot-holes and stirred them up 
with the ingredients, performing this act until 
the food was cooked to suit their taste. From 
your description I have no doubt that the pot- 
holes you saw were used for that very purpose, 
and that these very stones have cooked the 
meals of many an Indian warrior.” 

“ Hit was a mighty poor way er cookin,” 
muttered old Sol. “ I reckon de work er dis 
yere camp would nebber git done ef dey wus de 
ony fixins to do de cookin wif.” 

There were also other objects of interest which 
the boys had found, in the study of which they 
were entertained and instructed ; but as this 
story has already dealt largely with these sub- 
jects, it is not our purpose to pursue them far- 
ther. During the days of the week they had 
entered upon, the members of the Circle “took 
in the mountains,” so to speak. A two days’ 
ride took them to the town of Brevard, N. C., 


298 


THE SILVER BULLET 


and down the fertile valley of the beautiful 
French Broad River, up over Mount Hebron to 
Hendersonville ; and from thence back again to 
Caesar's Head. On another day they came down 
to the foot of the mountain and went up 
through the valley to Table Rock Mountain — 
the peer in some respects of Caesar’s Head. The 
camp, however, remained where they first lo- 
cated it. Here they stayed through the follow- 
fng Sunday, and Monday took up the line of 
march for Piedmont, which place they reached 
on Thursday night. 

The mountain air, the water, the scenery, had 
done wonders for the entire party. Their faces 
were bronzed, muscles hardened and minds ex- 
panded. From the open book of Nature, they 
had wrestled many a secret hitherto unknown 
to them. The studies in archaeology had been 
particularly profitable, while in practical min- 
eralogy they had made great advancement. 
Their conclusions had not been reached by the 
most scientific methods altogether, but they 
had seen and handled objects of which they had 
hitherto had but a theoretical knowledge, and 
the cases and cabinets at the snuggery would 
have to be increased in number and enlarged in 
capacity to contain the mass of specimens they 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


299 


had collected. They went back to their work 
in the mill with renewed vigor.and interest. The 
noise of the loom and spindle was music in their 
ears. This may seem a novel statement to one 
who has never followed the vocation of a cotton 
mill operative, but we venture the assertion, if 
the question be asked of one who has followed 
the business for several years, he would tell you 
that when he is absent for a few days from his 
accustomed toil, he becomes sensible of a void 
somewhere, and finds himself hushing his breath 

V 

to catch the whirling of spindles, or the slam- 
ming of looms. Hereafter, the pages of volumes 
*n the library were more frequently and care- 
fully scanned for further facts on subjects, the 
outlines of which they had become acquainted 
with on this trip. The thirst for study be- 
came more keen, and had we the time to follow 
the future career of each one of the “ boys,” we 
have no doubt we should find they had devel- 
oped into useful, influential men and citizens. 

About a month after the departure from 
Caesar’s Head, two letters were taken from the 
office at Piedmont. One, huge and bulky, was ad- 
dressed to Mr. PeKoque, the other, in a neat fe- 
male hand, was directed to our young friend, 
Dick Griswold. The result of the Captain’s com- 


300 


THE SILVER BULLET 


m unication was another trip to the mountains 
of about a week’s duration. It will be no breach 
of confidence to make known the contents of 
these two letters, and as they will round off 
this narrative, we will give them in full. First, 
let us see what it is that has made Dick’s brow 
to mantle with crimson, and his eyes to sparkle 
with eager anticipation. On breaking the seal, 
he gave a hurried glance at the signature. It is 
Minette. He then commences at the beginning. 
Hardly had he read two lines before his cheeks 
blanched and a pained expression comes over 
his face. The letter ran as follows : 

“Pleasant Valley Castle, 
“July 1, 189— 

“Mr. Richard Griswold, Piedmont, S. C. 

“Esteemed Friend: My father is dead. He 
passed away quietly and peacefully on yester- 
day. We w T ere expecting him to go and had 
known for two days that every moment might 
be his last. Yet it seems so sudden I can hardly 
realize he is gone, even now. He was ready to 
go, and talked about it as calmly as if he were 
going on a journey across the sea, just as he 
has often done when he went to France, 
only that he told us he should never come back 
to us, but we must come to him. I shall always 


1HE SILVER BULLET. 


301 


cherish the last few weeks of his life as the most 
hallowed and sacred of my own life. He talked 
to me of his boyhood and manhood, of my 
mother, and the bright and happy years of his 
married life; of how the sun had seemed to set 
forever when she left him for the better world, 
and that he should never know happiness again ; 
but when I began to grow and develop, and he 
saw her life reflected in mine, the sun began to 
shine again, and he became reconciled aud 
peaceful once more. He told me that I had 
been a comfort and blessing to him, and that 
mother and he and I should meet in the Home 
of the Soul, where she was now awaiting 
his coming, and they both should soon be to- 
gether waiting for me. I must think of them 
standing on the battlements of heaven, looking 
with longing eyes down the pathway of light, 
over which the ransomed ones journey, from 
earth to heaven, to watch for my coming. I 
showed him the picture in the saucer that you 
gave me. It seemed to make a great impres- 
sion on his mind, and often in our conversa- 
tion he would revert to it. The idea of the 
personal appearance of Christ had never seemed 
to occur to him before, but now was con- 
stantly with him. When the last hour of his 


302 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


life came, we had seated him in his reclining 
chair at his favorite window, in view of the 
mountains. Just as the. sun was sinking be- 
hind a gap in the hills, and rays of sunset 
splendor reached from summit to base till it 
seemed like a street of gold, such as one reads 
about in the Apocalypse, my father suddenly 
stretched out his hand toward it, and cried 
out in an eager, joyful voice : 

“ I see it! I see it ! Beautiful, beautiful ! It 
is the face in the Saucer.” His head sank back, 
a smile was on his face, but his spirit had 
passed up the shining way to meet my dear and 
beloved mother. At last they are united to part 
no more forever. But alas, poor me ! How 
can I live without them ? How my heart 
yearns for the loved companionship that hith- 
erto has made ray life so happy and joyous. 
But I will try to be brave and be consoled in 
the faith of the other and the better life. I have 
much to be thankful for. My father’s foresight 
has provided me with all the comforts I have 
need of ; and, best of all, God will be with me. 

“ Our blessed Redeemer has said : ‘ Lo, I am 
with you always, even to the end of the world.’ 
I can and do trust in Him. I have written to 
you because I felt you would commiserate and 


IRE SILVER LJJLLET. 


303 


sympathize with me, and becanse it is a relief for 
the heart to unbosom its sorrow. Will yon not 
pray for me that I may hold fast to God, and 
that my faith fail not? 

‘‘From your sad and bereaved friend, 

“Minette Reneau.” 

The tears were streaming from Dick’s eyes ere 
he had finished reading this letter, and when it 
was done he bowed his head, and there went up 
from that young, boyish heart a prayer of faith 
to Almighty God, such a prayer as is heard and 
answered in heaven. 

In that same hour, at his home in the 
Snuggery, Captain DeRoque was sitting with 
thoughtful brow, scanning a number of docu- 
ments that he too had received by mail from 
Pleasant Valley Castle. There were drafts for 
money on foreign banks, letters of introduction 
to parties in Paris and Lyons. Papers giving 
him power of attorney to act under certain 
conditions, and a letter written by Francis 
Reneau’s own hand, as follows: 

“Pleasant Valley Castle, 
“June 25th, 189 — 

“Fellow Craftsman and Brother of the Mys- 
tic Tie : 

With an undimmed mind but with a failing 


304 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


heart and hand, I set; about the last worldly 
business transaction of my life. In view of this, 
I am filled with solemnity and awe, for I shall 
soon stand in the presence of the Great Archi- 
tect of the Universe,” and my life-work will be 
tried by his “ unerring square.” I commit to 
you a charge that I cannot fulfill myself. You 
already know the nature of it. I have caused 
the necessary papers to be made out, and they 
will enable you to carry out my wishes to the 
fullest extent. I have but one thing to alter in 
the general plan which I have already made 
known to you. In the solemn realization that I 
shall soon be removed from earthly scenes, I 
wish no act or deed of mine to have even a 
taint or suspicion of injustice connected with it. 
Through the great mercy and goodness of God, 
I leave enough of this world’s goods to provide 
for my child and kindred. Nothing but a spend- 
thrift could squander the wealth they will in- 
herit. 

Now, with reference to the treasure I wish you 
to recover. My last wish and judgment is this: 
That if in your investigations you should have 
reason to believe that any of the descendants of 
the heirs of the original Henry who was slain in 
defence of Castle Reneau are living, you are to 


THE SILVER BULLET. 305 

consult, with them, gain their consent to co-op- 
erate with you in recovering the treasure, with 
the understanding that it shall be equally di- 
vided between the two branches of the family, 
but that you must not be interfered with in re- 
moving the treasure, and that the final division 
must be made in England. In case this plan is 
uot agreed to, you will then proceed to carry 
out my wishes in the manner made known to 
you in the first instance to the very letter. 

Now, with reference to the silver bullet, the key 
to the treasure room I know it will shock you 
when you learn the source to which you must look 
in order to obtain it. But when I explain the cir- 
cumstances of the concealment you will pardon, I 
trust the necessity which compels your seeking in 
person the secret place where it now reposes. I 
have already told you that I sought to gain admit- 
tance to the treasure chamber of the castle, hut 
was foiled by the ceaseless watchers who guard the 
place. I did not tell you that I was then pursued 
and that my life was in danger, but such was the 
case. I knew that enemies were on my track for 
the purpose of securing from me my secret. I saw, 
too t that the conditions about me would throw me 
in their hands. I must secrete the silver bullet 
where it could not be fouud but where I could pro- 


306 


THE SILVER BULLET. 


duce it in a moment if I needed it. I liit upon this 
plan. In my young manhood I had the misfortune, 
as I then thought, to have a large wen form on the 
back of my neck. It increased in size until it be- 
came a monstrosity, though it never caused me any 
real inconvenience, except a slight habit of bend- 
ing my head forward. Being in the city of Paris 
I made the acquaintance of a young American 
physician who informed me that he could easily re- 
move the excresence for me, and that too without 
danger to my health. On the day in question, 
when I had reason to believe my enemies would 
succeed in entangling me in their toils, I happened 
into this physician’s chambers and the scheme I re- 
fer to occurred to me. I asked him first if a man 
should be shot with a silver bullet, if the 
bullet embedded itself merely in his flesh, would 
it corrode, or cause blood poisoning? His answer 
was that if it should be embedded in the fleshy part 
of the arm, or in any place where it did not sever 
arteries or come in contact with a vital part of the 
system, it would neither corrode nor poison the blood, 
provided it was made of pure silver. I then sug- 
gested to him that he remove the wen as he had 
proposed to do and in the cavity caused by the 
wen insert the Silver Bullet and sew the wound 
over it so that^it should be entirely hidden and 


THE SILVER BULLET. 307 

I would try the experiment and see if the statement 
were true. It would be in the interest of science 
and the inconvenience I should experience would 
be no more than I was already undergoing. The 
idea tickled the doctor’s fancy and as he consid- 
ered the experiment perfectly harmless, he per- 
formed the operation, doing it with much skill 
and in a painless manner. A few days afterwards 
I was made a prisoner, my baggage and ward- 
robe was torn to shreds in search of any paper 
that would give them a clew to my secret. In 
consideration of my wound which they supposed 
was what it appeared to be, my person was 
gently dealt with. The silver bullet has reposed 
undisturbed in its novel resting place ever since. 
At any time the drawing of a knife across the 
scarred cuticle would have released it from its 
prison and the wound would be no more than a 
slight cut. In my present condition, when my 
moments are numbered, I dare not disturb it, but 
when my spirit has left its tenement of clay, as 
soon as possible thereafter, I desire you with 
the service of a physician to procure it. 

And now, brother, friend, craftsman, by the 
sacred tie that binds our brotherhood, I commit 
this business to your hands. Farewell until that 


308 


THE SILVER BULLET . 


day whey you too shall ascend Jacob’s ladder 
and meet me in the temple not made with hands. 

F. Reneau. 

From the nature of this communnication and 
the business committed to his charge it will be seen 
that the Captain had cause to be thoughtful. 
Should he undertake the mission himself or would 
it be best to select some one else who was better 
fitted for such a task ? Many times that ques- 
tion came up in his mind. At last he settled it 
and decided to make an attempt to accomplish 
the work by his own efforts. 

With this statement our story is practically 
ended. At some future date we may take up the 
thread of our narrative and tell how the treasure 
chamber was discovered and the treasure recov- 
ered by means of the silver bullet, the only key 
that could unfold its mystery. 

To the patient readers of the incidents we have 
portrayed in these pages, we wish much of joy 
in their hearts and their homes and bid them a 
blissful tomorrow. 


The End. 





















» 































* • ' ; 



















































































































* 


















- 
































■ 














































